


Nameless Infamy

by NevaRYadL



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual m/m smut, Half Argonian Half Mer character, M/M, Rise to Fame kind of story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:24:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 66,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevaRYadL/pseuds/NevaRYadL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was never anything special, other then an unholy abomination between two races. No coin, no family, Oblivion he did not even have a name, he was just some beggar out of Markarth. But then fate changes its design and he finds himself on the rise to power in a certain guild of cutthroats and pickpockets while also trying to stop a certain black dragon from devouring the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Nameless Beggar

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: This character is not canon with my pre-established universe where Gunnar, Rayvahn, Bruniik-Kah and Od-Kaaz reside. This is an alternate universe with a completely different story and set of characters.
> 
> Just doing this for fun while I continue to avoid the problematic DA fandom.

World was hard enough, to those without coins. World was harder to those that were not human. World was harder to those without loved ones. If you were anything like him, being without coin, not being human and having no family, then the world was almost impossible and often left him feeling like a used rag at the end of each and every day trying to take it on.

Not that he blamed anyone, since he was an unholy spawn that probably should not have existed in the first place. Honestly, how did one manage to mix something that was warm-blooded and cold blooded? It was beyond him and his limited knowledge. But there he was, half Argonian and half Altmer and sick all the fucking time. 

Then again, he was probably sick because he barely ate enough to survive, he slept in the cold all the time and got a beating at least once a week from the guards. It came with the territory of being an ‘unwanted’ in a city filled with racist bastards that were too worried about their own bullshit problems. Beg for food on the corner, get beat up by guards and have everything taken from you, beg some more and use what little gold you had to buy the scraps from the merchants to feed your snarling belly.

If being a beggar was hard though, he thought that he was especially having a hard time. Not many could look at the patches of green and blue scales and his red lizard eyes and think ‘I should help this poor guy out and give him some gold’. Not only that, but guards actively looked for him just to beat the shit out of him. Not many cared for a freak of nature, and fewer even cared that he was breathing at all considering his strange looks. So all eyes turned blind when the guards cornered him in dark corners. He was just glad that the alchemist thought him fascinating, because he did not want to count the times that he had been fatally wounded and her potions saved his life.

He counted his luck that he made it to his twentieth year, underweight and with more scars that he cared for, but alive. He thought that if he got the gold together, he would get a disguise and work the wines like a few beggars did in harsh times. Then again, the mines would not give two shits if he looked like the twisted offspring that he was, just if he could work long hours and in inhumane conditions. That he could not do with his poor health, but it was something to try and work for rather then get drunk off rat piss whiskey and mead like a few other beggars.

Speaking of…

At the moment he was hiding in a crack between the pillars while a drunken Cosnach chewed out the guards. He wondered how much he would need to beg the sadist Bothela for potions to patch the drunken moron up after the guards punched his lights out. She would probably want some of his scales…

Cosnach yelled out something completely undistinguishable and a guard shook with silent laughter, hidden by those creepy helms, and then lashed out with their fist. There was a crack and Cosnach went down. He held his red nose, bloodshot eyes peering up at the guards as bright red blood dripped from between his fingers. A guard pulled back a leg to kick him, only for Cosnach to quickly sit up and get out of the way, blood smeared across his mouth and a sort of anger etched into his dirty features.

If Cosnach could do something, it was put up a good enough fight with the guards so that they barely bothered him. It was only when the dumbass was out and about and bothering people with his drunken stupor that they bothered him. Or in this case, were actively looking for his own scaly arse to kick and Cosnach was in a good enough mood to pick a fight.

He dared brought his head out more to watch as Cosnach got to his feet, clutching his wine bottle in one hand and wiping away at the blood with the other. The drunken bastard was angry now, and quite frankly, the man had frightening drunken strength. When compared to the guards, who all were a bit soft around the edges from not doing their damned jobs, Cosnach was a one man guard wreaking monster.

Seeing that he was rearing for a fight, the guards hesitated before turning and leaving. They were cowards, the lot of them, and pulling his ratty hood further down so that the scales on the sides of his neck were less visible, as well as his eyes. He crept out of the crack and approached the drunken man, grumbling to himself as he tried to scrub the blood from his face and only mixing it with the dirt and grime already smeared on his skin.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuckin’ guards.” Cosnach whined.

He lifted his sleeve and scrubbed it across the man’s mouth, at least catching some of the blood so that he did not look to much like the meat seller in the market square. They did not need Cosnach whisked away in the middle of the night because the guards thought that he was either stealing meat or eating the other beggars. They did not need a reason for the guards to raid the Warrens in the middle of the night period.

“Still got my wine, I guess.” Cosnach grumped, drinking down said wine.

“You know, if you didn’t drink so much, you’d be pretty comfortable.” He quipped as they traveled down to the Warrens.

It was getting late and the guards would be actively looking for the drunken man in the dark where their abuse could be hidden from public eye. At least in the Warrens, the diseased beggars kept the guards away most nights. Not knowing what those wheezing, red eyes and filthy, bone thin beggars brought in the Warrens…

“Then I’d be miserable.” Cosnach grumped.

“You already are. But if you stopped drinking, then you’d have a warm bed and food for yourself.” He pointed out.

They passed by some fluffy nobles who sneered at them. Cosnach made eyes at the older lady, grinning perversely when she flinched in disgust. He just tried to keep his head down, trying to hide the eyes that made people freak out and try and hurt him. Everyone just needed to see the golden and filthy skin of his lower face and wonder why an Altmer was living in poverty rather than wonder what in Oblivion he was.

He learned early on that all races swung before they asked questions, lessons that were scarred into his cursed skin…

“I don’t need a warm bed or any of that shit,” Cosnach snipped “I’ve got my wine.”

“I don’t know about you, I could go for at least some warm broth.” He sighed.

“You didn’t make any gold today?” Cosnach asked.

“Not enough. Not even enough to buy bread scraps.” He sighed “It seems that people tend to avoid the skinny, shady Altmer, especially if he’s begging for coin.”

“Maybe someone else got lucky and is willing to share?” Cosnach asked.

His stomach growled low and loud. He was so used to hunger pangs that he did not feel them anymore, but his stomach twisted inside of him at the thought of going another night hungry. Sleeping hungry had to be the worst thing that one could have to suffer through when they were poor. But he did not have the gold to feed himself, and the stash he had was going to save his arse if something happened.

He supposed that he could dip into the gold… but went against it. He could live one hungry night. It just meant that he would lose a few hours sleep as he tried not to focus on his growling stomach. But that meant that the gold that he had made today would go to his stash. A few more coins to the meager little pile.

Maybe he would go adventuring one day? He needed to put on weight then…and not be ill all the time…

“Hey, that’s right…had to tell you something.” Cosnach said as they descended the last of the stairs.

“What?”

“There’s a thing going around…” Cosnach said as he pushed open the door and immediately closed it behind them, as not to let the sliver of warmth outside.

Most everyone was there huddled around a small fire that they were feeding woodchips and other things that the other beggars had gathered during the day. A few were chewing on hard bread scraps with a few lucky ones eating softer bread or cooked meat. No one looked like they had gotten lucky enough to share what they had earned for the day, but he had not hoped or expected it. He just joined the huddled massed underneath piles of dirty rages fashioned in cloaks and clothing, dirty hands shoveling morsels into the dirty rag piles, the sounds of wild chewing punctuated by the sound of wheezing and coughing of sickness.

“Shit? Another sickness? The last one that went around almost killed me.” He sighed.

“No, no, no,” Cosnach said, quickly downing the last of his wine and wiping away at his red stained mouth, tossing the bottle into the clutter just inside the main door. “A couple of travelers are in town and a couple of us have been approached…”

“Gods above don’t tell me you agreed to do something stupid!” He snapped.

“Define stupid.” Cosnach muttered.

They took a seat around the fire and he dared to pull back his hood some so that he could feel more of the heat of the flames against his cold cheeks. Everyone on the Warrens was used to his freakish appearance at this point, so when the flames lit up his bright red lizard eyes, no one flinched away. He still did not take his hood completely off, mind you, but it felt good to pull the hood away some.

“Anything to do with putting yourself in harm’s way, throwing away any amount of dignity that we have left or putting money into some ‘get rich quick scheme’?” He said, watching the little fire made of wood chips and rubbish burn low.

“Oh no, none of that.” Cosnach said “…Prostitution.”

…

“Did I hear you right, or did you just say what I thought you said?” He muttered.

“…Yeah.” Cosnach muttered.

“…I thought you said that there was no lose of dignity!” He snapped.

“It’s not! They came to us, wanting us of all people.” Cosnach snapped.

“I don’t fucking care, you’re selling your body to some fucking stranger!” He snapped “And beside the point, you have a job! You don’t need this!”

“Hey, I need the gold to feed myself. My _job_ doesn’t pay worth shit.” Cosnach snapped.

“You could do that if you didn’t fucking drink all the time!” He snapped, shaking the man as hard as he could, as if he could shake the idea loose from the man’s mead laden mind.

“Hey, hey. It’s easy gold. Just let some freaky woman with gold bounce on my lap, get the gold and I can both eat and get drunk.” Cosnach said, pulling his hands loose “I can’t lose!”

The drunk’s hands were warm against his, or especially the scales on the backs of his hands, the faintest scrap of the man’s calluses pleasant against his thin skin was also nice. But he still pulled his hands away, glowering at the man.

“…And become a piece of meat in the process.” He growled low before moving away and into a corner to curl up.

~*~

He was prideful, and he would not deny being that. Sure, he blamed it on the stuck up Altmer blood in him, but he did not deny that he was prideful. It was probably one of the reasons that he was miserable all the time, since he had to beg for the coin to live and grovel at the feet of strangers. It was one of the reasons that he never went around flashing his strange features to try and get coin. He did not want to lose what little dignity that he had trying to show off that he was a freak.

He guessed that was why he was so angry. Cosnach was his friend, not only his friend but one of the best. This was the man that he helped out of trouble when he found his way into it. This was the friend that he pulled away from angry guards and hid when they tried to hunt him down. This drunk fuck was the man that he curled up against at night so they both did not shiver and freeze to death in Skyrim’s cold weather. This man that would so willingly throw his pride away for some gold…

Maybe if he did it because he chose to, it would be different. Then he would be willingly doing it, knowing the full consequences of such a profession and then he would still have his pride about him because he chose it. But to do it just for the money… that was different. That was falling back onto something out of desperation and throwing it all away to get gold… that was…

He just hoped that this ‘traveler’ that Cosnach would entertain was not into anything that would hurt his friend. Too many fears of some woman or man beating on him to get off plagued his thoughts and made him want to be sick. He thought about praying for his friend, and anyone wanting to accept this deal, but realized that if in roughly ten years of praying no gods had delivered him from poverty then chances were that they would not at least protect their friends.

His life sucked like that.

Awhile after he curled up, another body curled up around his. Since it was habit for the beggars to cuddle for warmth to live during cold nights, he did not bother flinching like he had as a child. Though the heavy alcoholic breath against his neck told him it was Cosnach. It seemed that Cosnach was testing the waters, see if he was angry, and he could not find it in himself to do so. If Cosnach wanted to do this, then let him. It was not his body, so it was not his choice what happened with it. He could just say that it was a bad idea, and that was the extent of his power.

Besides that, his body had a hard enough time keeping warm. He needed somebody to leech heat off of to live through the night unless he wanted to wake up deathly ill the next day. Probably his mixed blood, and thus he did not elbow the man with his dangerously bony elbows. Just relaxed as the man’s heat seeped into him.

Who knew, maybe Cosnach would come to his senses in the morning and decide otherwise…

~*~

As it turned out… no he did not.

He woke up the next morning just as Cosnach was leaving. The drunkard only said that he would back within an hour and left, leaving his back cold and the tingles of a bad cough coming onto him and a terrible feeling his gut. If he had been in better health, then he would have gone after him, but he was not and had to get up for the day.

Like many of the beggars, they had no way to clean themselves except sneaking over to the river that ran by the blacksmiths and scrubbing what they could off their skin before the blacksmith started throwing molten scraps in the water. Two scars on his back came from that, two pieces of metal that had yet to cool sliding down his back before he could stop them and burned scars onto the scales on his back. Not to mention, the guards would sometimes catch them and pull them naked to the mine.

He was sick all the time, and his health was literally balanced on the edge of a knife, so he only bathed in that water perhaps every few months. Not only that, but he never stripped. If he was going to be dragged anywhere if he got caught by the guards, it certainly was not going to be naked where anyone could see how much of a freak he was. Or the fact that not even Cosnach knew that he had a tail that he kept wrapped around his leg. That was going to remain a secret as long as he lived.

So when a few beggars snuck off to jump into the water, he instead went to the tavern in hopes of catching the children of the inn keeper’s children before their cranky old father got up. They would be cleaning the tavern while their parents had their early round of yelling at each other for some reason or another, and tending to any business that came in while their parents were away.

Hroki, the pampered sweetheart, often fed him hard tact or day old bread if he cleaned underneath the beds and counters for her as she did not like the spiders and little insects that dwelled there. Hreinn, the bitter little busybody, would do the same if he cleaned up the fireplace for the lad. If they were both up and their parents still away, then they would dare bring him out some hot, but thin broth and watered down mead if his health was good enough. However, if their parents were up then it was their job to gently shove him back out the door with then sometimes slipping him hard bread scraps.

He did not take advantage of their kindness, and rarely visited the tavern so early in the morning. However, the tingling in his chest was getting worse and he had a feeling that within a few hours he would be curled up in a tight little ball of pain as he wheezed and struggled to breath. He had already gone a night hungry, but he did not think that he could live through the day hungry without almost dying from sickness.

When he dared popped his head inside, he only saw the siblings and heard faint yelling upstairs. Seeing a golden opportunity, he quickly snuck in. Creeping over to the tavern counter, Hroki looked up from scrubbing the counter and smiled at him warmly.

“Hello there!” She chirped.

“Good morning, Hroki.” He greeted “When did they start?”

“Just a moment ago, you have time. Care to clean out the fireplace? Mother made me clean under the beds and such yesterday.”

Nodding, he picked up a rag and a bucket from her and scurried over to the darkened fireplace. The coals were dark and cold, having not been tended yet, so he could avoid scarring up his hands more. Taking the rag, wetting it, he set about hurriedly scrubbing the fireplace. Meanwhile the siblings quietly went about their own work of sweeping and scrubbing.

While he was busy getting his hands stained with coal and ashes, and his filthy sleeves, Ogmund and Vorstag came in. His head immediately went down, because he knew better then to look at two burly Nords, even if they had proved generally friendlier then their brethren. It was better avoid any chance of getting kicked for being the strange looking beggar then try and make friends. Besides, he got a chance to overhear news from the two chatty men as they seemed like the only ones that cared in the silver city that ran red with blood.

“…Dragons, can you believe it?” Vorstag said as they went over to the counter.

“I can scarcely believe it myself.” Ogmund muttered back.

“They say that a big black one attacked Helgen. Almost killed Ulfric but he managed to escape in time. Killed quite a few other people though…”

“Anyone of note?” Ogmund asked.

“Mostly Imperials and Stormcloaks. A couple of prisoners meant to be executed. A faceless Nord that no one knew.” Vorstag said.

“Poor bastard.” Ogmund muttered.

Refreshing the cloth, he scrubbed some more coal and grime from the fireplace, getting some blackness underneath his nails. They were getting long and sharp again, and while they were naturally a grey color, they did not look right on an Altmer that people assumed him to be. Maybe he would get lucky and could ‘borrow’ a dagger from a drunken guard again. He just needed to clip his nails before the guards thought that he was sharpening them to use as weapons.

When he had scrubbed the fireplace clean, Hroki had a loaf of bread ready for him. He carefully nibbled on it, his teeth aching from chewing the first bite but his naturally sharp teeth easily tearing through it. He got about a third of it down before his weak stomach started to ache from fullness and he pocketed the rest. Hroki also fetched a small cup of thin broth and he swallowed it down, feeling his insides warm right up.

“You know, I could probably convince my parents to hire you.” Hroki said.

“And who would want to hire the underweight, misshapen, ugly beggar with no family or coin to speak of?” He retorted back, as he usually did when she mentioned him getting hired by the inn.

“They would, if they realized that you were willing to do the jobs that we don’t.” Hroki grumbled.

“I would not want to do it. I do this and it hurts my pride to do so, but it feeds me and I can choke on my pride for at least that.” He said.

“Your pride is killing you, you know this right?” Hroki sighed.

“And I refuse to leave it behind. Thank you for the food, Hroki. Have a good day.” He said, before coughing loudly.

There was that cough of his…

“I’m going to tell my parents!” She called out after him as he left for the Warrens “I’ll get them to hire you, just to spite you!”

“Good luck with that, my dear.” He drawled sarcastically.


	2. Sex Workers and Murderers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Slight gore, murder
> 
> Cosnach keeps up his new job, he goes to see Bothela and gives her a deadly new poison, and he becomes a murderer. What an eventful day!
> 
> Reading the comments Me: [evil laughter intensifies]  
> But no seriously, you guys that left comments on the first chapter saved Cosnach from a cruel, cruel fate and slapping on some dark tags. So, yay! :D

Less than an hour later and he was coughing and wheezing, curled up in a tight little ball in the Warrens. He sometimes felt a terrible coldness as he struggled to breath, and sucked in breath whenever he got the chance just to get air into his lungs, even if the coughing got worse. He was not going to choke to death because he could not breathe through his coughing. He was not going to die because of his poor health.

But there he was, coughing and wheezing his lungs out like he really was dying, curled up in a tight ball by the dying fire in a vain attempt to keep warm. It only got worse as his body got sweaty and the sweat instantly cooled in the cold air, making him shiver violently. He threw up the bread and broth after an hour and felt his skin flush in a fever. He tried to swallow some water from one of the buckets, but ended up throwing it up too. His stomach started clenching tightly in pain and he broke out in a worse fever.

Eventually he managed to find the ability to sleep. His dreams were haunted by nightmares though.

He had nightmares of feeling so hungry that his bones hurt, and that he wasted away until he was a brittle mass of bones and tissue that broke apart. When he begged faceless strangers for food, showing them how starved he was, they laughed at him and watched as he died.

Nightmares of being chased by dragons that feverishly hunted him down while screaming that ‘You are our kin, do as your blood demands’ and his only retort was that he was nothing like them and hearing them laugh in turn. He ran through the city with the force and speed of gales but still the dragons hounded his every step and kept calling him their ‘kin’.

He had nightmares of Cosnach opening the door to the Warrens and smiling with a mouth missing teeth and a skull missing eyes and showing him three coins that he had gotten. When he screamed and cried and tried to get away from the horrifying creature, Cosnach would always catch him and get that butchered face in his face and ask him in a sweet voice ‘what was wrong’.

Strangely enough the dragon nightmare was what bothered him the most. He realized that he was half Argonian, and had a lot of scales on his body, but he was nothing like a dragon. Some ragged pride, some gnarly nails, some sharp teeth and some lizard eyes and a tail? That did not make him a dragon. That made him a freak that should have been more disturbed by the thought of his friend coming home without eyes or teeth and not worried that he had lost them.

Maybe his mind was bothered by the fact that he sometimes wished that his body would just magically decided to be fully elf or fully Argonian sometimes just so that he was not the freak anymore…

When he eventually did wake up, his coughing had calmed down and his fever had broken a bit. He wiped the sweat from his brow and forced himself to eat two mouthfuls of bread just to make up for throwing up his food prior, and drinking some water to help keep it down. Eventually his stomach settled and he felt a kernel of comfort out of the misery. Enough to focus at least.

He figured, judging by the air, that it had to be late noon. But no one was in the Warrens, not even the ones that usually sat around because they were too sick to move. Cosnach said that he would be back home relatively soon, right? That would mean that anyone that joined him would be back soon too, right? Well then… where in Oblivion were they? He hoped that he did not need to go hunt them down, his health was already in the-

The door opened and Cosnach stuck his head inside. When the man’s bloodshot eyes landed on him, he put on a sheepish smile and came in.

“Didn’t think that you would be in here.” Cosnach chuckled nervously.

He coughed loudly and wetly, as though to wordlessly tell the man why.

After Cosnach entered, a few more of the other beggars wondered into the Warrens. They appeared more lively then they had in days, and… were they cleaner then they had left? Was this mysterious patron so willing to get the pleasure they sought that they would actually clean up a group of ragged beggars to get it? 

Something was not right. Several things were not right. Who would come to this city looking for people to pay for sex? This city was only here literally for the silver mines and perhaps the rich Dwarven history that still lingered beneath it. Nothing else. So who would come here looking for sex? Not only that, but who would find the beggars of the city and not only pay them, but clean them up as well?

Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but something was definitely wrong.

“Look, see, I got paid.” Cosnach said, showing him a modest pouch of coins.

He coughed and wheezed, ignoring the man.

“I can drink, I can eat well, Oblivion, I can even start saving up towards a house. Actually, we were all thinking of pooling money together to buy that empty house in the city. It’s a lot of money, but these strangers are going to be in the city for a few more days.”

He coughed particularly hard and felt something wet and warm land in his hands. Looking at his palms, he let out a low groan when he saw the little slivers of blood mixed in with the clear phlegm. That meant that he needed to go see Bothela again…

“Eight above, are you alright?” Cosnach asked.

Wiping his hands on his ragged clothing, he stood up with full intent to leave and see Bothela. He did not want to see Cosnach now of all times, not with his mind churning out paranoid theories and worried that Cosnach was getting further and further tangled in whatever web these travelers were weaving. Not to mention, he felt like he really, really needed the fresh air with how terrible he felt.

Only, the moment he stood up and put weight on his knees, his knees to give out. Cosnach caught him as he crumpled to the ground, wheezing and struggling to breathe. It seemed that whatever ailed had zapped whatever strength he had. He could feel the fever creeping in the corners of his brain and start burning his cheeks up.

Too weak to move, he could not stop Cosnach from pulling him into the man’s lap. A rough hand patted his back as he weakly coughed, curling in on himself in pain and misery.

“I’m… still… mad at… you.” He managed between fits of coughs.

“I know. And just like every other time, I’ll find a way to change that.”

Scoffing at him, he just leeched off the man’s warmth and let his fevered mind relax.

~*~

When he woke up again, again he found himself alone. It seemed that all the beggars were onto this scheme that these mysterious travelers were doing. While he felt a certain bitter slurry of emotions, but he had also resolved to take the ‘not my body, not my rules’ sort of thinking and tried to swallow his emotions. Left a nasty taste that bothered his stomach though.

His health was a bit better though, fever had yet to break but the cough had faded into a sore throat. He had no idea if he could go out begging though, probably not without passing out on the street without waking up to an armored boot to the gut. He, for one, was not fond of armored boots to the gut and decided to go instead to see Bothela now that he was not dying.

Wrapping a ragged piece of cloth around his lower face, he pulled his hood down and wobbled out of the Warrens and into the brisk air of the early, early morning.

Now, he barely had two coins to rub together. But Bothela was nothing if not a sick and curious woman. He had garnered her attention when he was younger she found out about his mixed blood while he was looking for something for his poor health. She had been deeply interested in his biology and physiology since then, and would graciously treat him free of charge if he let her poke and prod at him. 

While he would normally never allow such a thing, however, he found himself swallowing his pride if it meant that she would stop making him sick and even find out ways to make him able to live life without having to worry about being sick. It was because of her that he was no longer deathly sick every day.

It was a wonder that he never choked on his pride…

Walking through the city, avoiding guard routes carefully, he heard nothing about the travelers nor saw hide or hair of his friends. He really was hoping for a chance to pull at least Cosnach by the ear back to the Warrens, magically talk his friend back to his senses and they could continue life as it was. But no such luck, not even a whisper of his friend was to be hand. Not that he ever had luck to begin with.

Opening the door to the Hag’s Cure, he saw Bothela bent over the alchemy table and her assistant Muiri minding the counter. Seeing him, Muiri scowled darkly but said nothing.

“Good morning, Bothela.” He said loudly enough as he stepped inside.

Standing up, the old woman turned with a rather sour look on her face that barely softened by seeing him. The dark war-paint on her face scrunched as she ground her knuckles against her hips as she made her way over to him.

“Ah, my friend. What can I do for you today?” Bothela said, just the slightest warmth in her sour and bitter voice.

“Sickness for a favor?” He ventured.

“Of course. Muiri!” Bothela snapped.

“Yes?” Muiri groaned deeply.

“Leave girl, I have work to attend to.” Bothela snapped none too kindly.

Muiri looked like she wanted to strangle him, pure murder in her eyes, but Bothela frowned darkly and Muiri sighed before slowly making her way out the door. She tried to bump into, but he side stepped. She righted herself before she fell over, scoffed at him, and slammed the door behind him.

“Such a bitter girl.” Bothela said before motioning him behind the counter.

He stepped behind the counter as Bothela locked the door. He gripped the edges of his hood and after a moment of hesitation, pulled it back away from his face. He could feel the cold air on the scales along the back of his neck and ears, could feel the cold in his teeth even like a sharp pain. But he just brushed his ragged hair away from his neck and took a seat on the counter while Bothela stood in front of her.

“Yes, I can see what the problem is,” She said, brushing her cool fingertips across his cheek “You’re positively flushed rose gold.”

“I blame my fucking blood.” He grumbled as she messed around with a few potions and ingredients.

“You’re blood is interesting, my nameless friend.” Bothela said, quickly grinding up a potion and adding a few bits here and there as she went “How a Mer bedded an Argonian and made you fascinate me to no end.”

“It almost kills me if I sleep cold.” He said.

“It might say that an Argonian can mix their blood with other races. Or that you might be born from magic. Or perhaps that you are not Argonian and Mer at all, but really a Daedra in disguise.” Bothela said.

“None of those sounds appealing, Bothela.” He pointed out.

“Well, not to you of course, but very interesting to me.” Bothela chuckled dryly.

“And your cruel, sadistic ways.” He deadpanned.

“You know me so well, my nameless friend.” Bothela chuckled.

She made a potion and handed it off to him to choke down. Looking at the bubbling dark green liquid, he shuddered violently at the thought of choking it down, but Bothela already had a hold of his free hand and was examining his nails closely.

His nails came from his Argonian parent, but were a dark grey color and were naturally sharp and thick. It had been quite some time since he had clipped them. The last had been from a stolen dagger off a guard that he pawned for food afterwards. Since then, they had grown into slightly curved talons. Biting them had kept the points dull though.

“You know… Argonians’ nails have been known to make potent poisons. So many years of their nails digging into the mud in dirty rivers, fish, and the flesh of other Argonians, those toxins reside within them. Now, for you to have Argonian nails but also have Mer blood…”

“You want… my nails?” He asked.

“Just a few clippings. That are remarkably long and sharp looking.” She said “Just drink your potion and let me clip them. I even promise not to ‘accidently’ rip them off.”

Sighing, he let her find a pair of relatively sharp looking scissors and start gently snipping away at his nails as he gagged on the bitter and vile potion that tasted like rotting skeever meat. It felt like slime dripping down his throat, and left a greasy residue on his tongue, but the more he gagged down, the more he felt his fever drop. When he had finally managed to choke down the rest of the potion, he felt his fever finally subside and his sore throat ease up a bit.

While he made faces at the linger taste on his tongue, Bothela had clipped away his nails to a tolerable shortness and placed all the nail clippings in a small dish. Though it seemed that she could not wait to see what his nails did, as she immediately took a few clippings and started grinding them into a fine powder that she added a few mushrooms, moss, a few dollops of some different colored pastes before mixing it all together in a mixture that turned a bright and vivid blue that almost looked like it was glowing.

“That looks deadly.” He said.

“It does.” Bothela purred. “I need to test this.”

“Thanks for the potion.” He said quickly, pulling his hood back up and hopping off the counter.

“Have a good day, my nameless friend.” Bothela called out after him.

“Do you have to keep rubbing it in that I don’t have a name?” He asked sullenly as he headed towards the door.

“As long as you keep refusing to give yourself one.” Bothela chuckled as he closed the door behind him.

~*~

As he headed back to the Warrens, tired for some reason, he could not help but think that she was right.

He kept refusing to give himself a name, knowing full well that he could just slap a name onto himself and call himself by that name. But… he did not know. Nothing felt right about having a name that he just gave himself, felt too much like a nickname no matter how much meaning was behind it, he supposed. Though he wondered why he was so intent on remaining nameless, not like he knew his parents and could track them down for them to give him a name.

They dumped him into the arms of the beggars anyway, so he had a feeling that they did not give two shits wither or not he was using a name.

Wow… he was tired.

Making it back to the Warrens, he opened the door and… something was off. Though he had no idea what could have happened in perhaps the hour that he was away. The Warrens was cold and dirty like always.

Walking over to the little fireplace, he got the embers churned enough to start letting off warmth again. Finding a few wood scraps, he started a small fire and took a seat in front of it, warming his hands as best he could. He wondered if perhaps he could go begging for at least some thin broth. Maybe the children at the tavern would be willing to hand over some bread scraps as they escorted him out of the tavern…

He heard something rustling and turned to see what it was. When he looked, he saw nothing and assumed that it was just another skeever running about. He turned back around and kept warming his hands by the fire place. The scales on the backs of his hands felt so cold. Maybe he needed to try and save a few coins for better clothing then the parchment thin rags he wore.

Hearing the door open, he did not need to look to know who it was.

“Back from your new job, Cosnach?” He said more than a little bitterly.

He heard quiet footsteps and immediately went for a piece of burning wood that looked like the peg off a wheel.

“What’s wrong? Your tongue go numb from use? Never thought you an oral man, Cosnach.” He said calmly.

The steps grew closer and stopped behind him.

“Cosnach, you know I don’t like when you keep your tongue around me.” He said.

Turning on his arse, he slammed the burning peg into the person’s kneecap. The leather clad person let out a horrid screech as he snatched the knife from their belt and blindly stabbed at them. The knife unfortunately hit a thick layer of leather and only left a cut, causing enough of a pause for the shape to lash out and smack him across the face. Stars danced across his vision as he stepped back, clutching the knife desperately.

“Skinny little bitch!”

The shape leapt forward, and he lashed out blindly with the knife. He cut something again and the shape shifted back. He blinked away the stars, vision still wavering, seeing the hooded and masked person standing in a rather professional offensive position. His vision was still too shitty to see who exactly it was, but supposed that the sorry bastard was soon to be dead. Or he would be. Either way.

The shape reached for the knife and he sliced at the hand, cutting a finger tip off. The shape screeched something fierce and he grabbed the back of the hood and stabbed towards the shape’s face. The shape shook free of his hand and the knife skidded across the shape’s face, tearing it right open and getting blood on his hand.

“Just fucking…die!”

He pulled back and finally hit home… in what he assumed to be the shape’s eye as the shape’s thrashing soon stopped and the shape went limp. Dropping his grip and the knife, he watched the shape collapse to the ground, completely limp. After a moment, he nudged the shape and realized that he just killed someone.

Great… his friend was a whore and he was a murderer. How else could his life screw up even more?

Well… he needed to get rid of the body… that was some quality armor though…

~*~

He was shaken awake by Cosnach. While he groaned and moaned, Cosnach showed him some roasted and seasoned meat and broth in a large pot. Said that he bought it with the pay that he got. His sleepy mind may have had a quip about him being a ‘damned good whore’ if he could afford that kind of stuff, and he may have gotten a smack upside the head about it.

“Speaking of damned good, what’s with that armor? I don’t remember you wearing that when I left.” Cosnach said.

Looking down at the armor that he had taken off the mysterious attack, he looked up at Cosnach face.

“I killed someone for it.” He said flatly.

“Fine, you don’t want to tell me, you don’t want to tell me.” Cosnach said, cutting off a hunk of meat and handing it over “Some friend you are.”

He could have laughed, if the thought of being a murderer did not leave a bitter taste on his tongue. At least he had a decent enough hiding spot for the body, and the leather armor was keeping him pleasantly warm, coupled with his hood and a strip of cloth around his face, and the gauntlets that came with the armor and all the his scaly bits were covered. Now at first glance he was just a humanoid.

“What kind of armor is that, by the way?” Cosnach asked as they gnawed on their meal.

“Don’t know. Warm though.” He said.

“Looks like faction armor.” Cosnach said “But I wonder who wears just plain leather armor though…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---


	3. Dragons and Thieves

The next few days were eventful.

The beggars were pooling their money together to buy a house. Cosnach said by the time that the nobles said that they were leaving, that they could afford it if no one went splurging on anything. That meant bulk gruel for food, but, everyone got to eat and they could pull people off the streets. That meant that he could avoid getting sick so often, though he doubted with the armor that he would anyway.

Besides, gruel was not too hard on a stomach as sensitive as his, and the fact that he did not need to beg for a time was doing wonders for his mental health as well. Though he wondered what he was supposed to do exactly with all this free time.

He did think about the armor, whose it was anyway. He tried to recall from the limited knowledge that he held of factions to remember what faction wore plain leather armor. If the crest was not worn proudly, then it was probably a criminal faction. Criminal factions in Skyrim were numerous, and thus he could not pinpoint exactly who the armor belonged too, even if he really knew all of them. At least that meant that the bastard that had broken into the Warrens was probably there to rob or kill, so he did not feel _that_ terrible about killing him.

Still… what faction wore plain, leather armor-

“You could join us…” Cosnach mentioned casually and snapping him from his train of thought, flinching when he glared.

“First. No. Second? Who would want someone like me?” He snapped.

His hood was down and he felt his scales itch with the cold. Actually, all of his scales were itchy for some reason. He was probably shedding again, it always happened when his health took more than a few days on a good swing, and between eating normally, being warm and having not gone outside, he had only minor coughs and small heat flashes. To him? That was good health.

“You never know.” Cosnach offered before he glared darkly again.

“Look, Cosnach, I’m still trying to accept that you’re willingly doing this. What makes you think that I would just jump on the bandwagon?” He said firmly, undoing his gauntlet to look at his arm.

“Well… one more hand might make the difference between getting that house or not?” Cosnach offered, again flinching when he glared.

“Cosnach, I go outside and I get sick. What makes you think that I can strip down, roll around in the sheets with some fucked up, perverted noble and not just drop dead?” He snapped.

The dark blue scales on top of his arms had lost a lot of their luster, and thin pieces of dead tissue were already flaking away from the thinner, green and yellow scales that transitioned into his Mer skin. Dark blue to green to golden yellow scales and then golden yellow skin. He picked at what he could before the dead tissue was still too attached to painlessly remove. Cosnach made a face at the papery dead skin that did pile up though, mock gagging as he threw it into the fire to burn. He made a face back and some of the tension eased out of the air around them.

“Alright, alright. You’ve made your point,” Cosnach said “Just keep it in mind, just in case?”

“Fine! But I’d rather not die for sex and coin, thank you very much.” He huffed.

“I rather you didn’t either.” Cosnach grinned, ruffling his hair.

“Hey, while we’re talking about your employers,” He said, making a note to try and chop off all his ratty hair in the future “Why are they in the city anyway? Nothing here but silver, blood feuds and that Dwarven shit underneath the city. And I doubt very much they came here for the sex.”

It was something that still bothered him, and would put at least part of his mind to ease knowing that Cosnach was not walking into one of the thousand of devious plots that his paranoid mind had come up with.

“Silver,” Cosnach said, immediately releasing some tension from his shoulders “From what I’ve gathered. Some nobles are here for the silver, and a few of the younger one tagging along don’t really care for trading agreements, so they looked for fun.”

“I say, good luck trying to weasel in on the Silver-Blood’s silver mining. You might be stuck being the ‘fun’ for longer then you said.” He snorted loudly.

“Hey, more money.” Cosnach shrugged.

“Well, Cosnach, there’s another question that bothers me,” He said “What are you going to do when you guys buy the house? And if you say ‘turn it into a whorehouse’ I will leave immediately and never come back.”

Cosnach shrugged, making him cock a suspicious eyebrow at him.

“It’d be a start to getting a few of us on our feet?” Cosnach offered “If a beggar has a house, then perhaps that beggar won’t be so looked down upon? Besides, if they had a decent house to sleep in, maybe not so many of us would be sick all the time.”

“True.” He hummed mindlessly, pulling his other gauntlet off to pick at the dead skin.

* * *

That night he had another nightmare about dragons.

This time however, he was in an impossibly white place. Dragons would pull themselves from the whiteness and drop dead in front of him. He would feel an impossible hunger, feeling the pain all the way to his bones, and realizing that there was something to eat in front of him. With brutal strength and sharp talons, he tore into the flesh of the dragon and devoured the flesh that tasted wrong in every way.

The more flesh he consumed, the larger and more lizard-like he became. His teeth grew into sharp points, his nails grew and sharpened, more scales took over his skin. He was almost eight feet tall by the time the time that he had ripped all the flesh and organs from the dragon’s skeleton. But that left a gory skeleton with no more flesh to eat and he felt another wave of nauseating pain sweep over him at the thought. But he had nothing to fear, as the whiteness consumed the bloody skeleton and another dead dragon took its place.

With more flesh before him, he devoured and feasted like he had before.

He just kept devouring dead dragons. Wings grew at one point and enlarged with each dragon and its wings consumed, spreading out like storm clouds. He formed a dragon’s muzzle as well, and it filled itself with rows upon rows of sharp, deadly teeth. Horns sprouted from his temples, rough and bone like, curling like ram’s horns and ending in deadly points. A tail sprouted from the end of his spine, lashing out to a deadly length, topped off by the spines that sprouted from his back and made themselves barbed like and dangerous.

After perhaps the tenth dragon… he was nothing more than a dragon, a massive, scaly beast of a creature that felt the whiteness tremble underneath his claws as he moved about. When he spoke, his voice shook the white space, and came out as growled and garbled words that he could not understand but did.

The words of power that shook the earth and the sky and the water, and would shake the very foundation of destiny itself.

He just needed to speak them, break from this white space-

That was when he woke up and started sobbing uncontrollably. Cosnach soothed down his hair as he sobbed though miserable hiccups and tried to curl in on himself. When Cosnach asked what his nightmare had been about, he just said that he did not understand and did not want to talk about it.

Really? He did not understand. Dragons haunted his nightmares, turning into night terrors at this point, and he really did not understand why he was scared of dragons. He knew he was half Argonian, and that it was likely that without some dark and dangerous magic that that would never change in anyway. Perhaps it was just whispers of dragon attacks, but he wondered why he was just so focused on this dragon thing.

_Words of power that could shake the earth and the sky and all the water, and would shake the very foundation of destiny itself._

That could have been it. Anything about the future always threw him into a tizzy, since it was bleak and filled with the same pains that he suffered in current day. But he wondered why he was thinking about dragons and a power that could shake destiny. What race knew more about dragons than anyone else?

…Nords… 

Scratch that. His curiosity could go without. As much as his mind was wondering just how in the world that dragons, destiny and ‘words of power’ fit together, he had a distinct distaste for Nords. Big burly bastards had proven to him before the time that he was a teenager that he was undesired. 

Nords, yes the entirety of the race, could go fuck themselves. His curiosity be damned to Oblivion and back.

* * *

His curiosity was sated less than two hours later when a dragon attacked the city and he devoured the dragon’s soul and learned about this Dragonborn nonsense. But that was him getting ahead of himself.

He woke up, blissfully free of any sort of dream, and gnawed on some dried meat while Cosnach snored against his hip bone. While he tried to shake the weariness and lingering sleep from his mind, he heard what sounded like thunder outside. It sounded off, like it was not as deep sounding and sharper sounding, but he counted that towards being half asleep and being in the Warrens. It startled Cosnach awake though, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“We’ll block the door so that the rain doesn’t get in.” He yawned as Cosnach fell limp again, groaning against his hip.

There was another roll of thunder and he got up to gather the rags of his old clothing and the moldy rags that they normally used and started stuffing the cracks in the door with them in anticipation of the coming rain and wind. It was the only deterrent they had against such things, as they never had the money to fix the door and the Jarl certainly did not care. While he was doing that, the thunder was getting worse and worse outside, eventually startling all the beggars awake. They groaned and moaned awake as he stuffed the last of the rags into the last of the cracks and took to sitting close to Cosnach.

The air… had yet to suddenly lose all heat and become crisp and cold like it did before storms. He wondered about that as he helped start a fire and start burning some woodchips and sticks. Once a hot enough fire started going, they warmed up the gruel and added some meat to it, getting it nice and hot before serving it out. The thunder rumbled outside as they sluggish ate their meager meal.

Cosnach nodded off against his shoulder at one point and he slumped against Cosnach, his eyes drifting shut as the whispers of the beggars seemed to lull his mind towards sleep. Even the rolls of thunder barely phased his mind. The edges of his vision went dark as his mind started to drift with Cosnach’s wiry hair rubbing against his neck.

Maybe if he shut his eyes… he would not dream of dragons again…

_**ROAR!** _

Startling awake, he looked towards the door.

That was not thunder. That was a roar of mythical proportions. That sound like a… a… _dragon’s_ roar. That was a _fucking dragons’ roar_ and he could feel cold sweat forming on his skin and started shaking like a leaf in a storm. Cosnach was awake, and one of the man’s hands was on his arms, looking up at the ceiling as the thing roared again and they could feel the city of stone shudder. The stones shook and dust drifted down onto the beggars as they awoke and looked around fearfully.

“I-I-It’s not.” He said, teeth chattering.

“Dragons are supposed to be coming back, right?” Cosnach asked “But that wouldn’t attack Markarth, right?”

“None of us are Nords, I don’t know.” He managed.

He guessed that the best that they could do was buckle down and hope to everything that was good that the roof did not cave in on them. He still clung to Cosnach as he tried not to have continuous full blow panic attacks.

His nightmares were not out to get him, right?

* * *

They could not stay in the Warrens forever, it seemed. Only an hour after they had all huddled together, the roof shaking dust down onto them and the door shaking most of the rags loose, his heart hammering against his ribs and his breathing far too loud for anyone’s sake, the door was kicked open.

A patrol of guards were there, most of their armor looking like they had been dusted with flames and a blood laden brush. The beggars, thinking that they were going to get their asses kicked while the city was being attacked, naturally clung tighter to the back wall and buckled up for any sort of assault. However, a guard barked for them to get to the safety of the Jarl’s palace, and _yes_ , a dragon was attacking the city.

They were hesitant to go. After all, the guards were the main source of abuse that they suffered at the hands of a city they despised. Why should they follow the orders of the people that kicked them, spat on them, laughed at their pitiful existence, took their money and generally made living terrible?

But then the guards demanded at sword point that they start heading towards the Jarl’s palace, and then what could they do? They followed after the guards meekly, shuffling outside to see that the sky was dark and stormy, echoing with the dragon’s roars that sounded like they were just outside the city.

They must have gotten the dragon out of the air and fighting soldiers on the ground outside the city…

The guards shoved a woman forward, barking at them to go. Huffing, he helped the poor woman up and helped her along as the guards none too kindly pushed them along towards the castle, as the air started smelling more and more like ashes and fire. The woman that leaned against him wheezed and clutched her chest as she kept her watery eyes on the skies. He watched too, hoping no one would catch the reds of his pupils.

A guard shoved against his shoulder and he quickened his step, lest he turn around and the guard sees his eyes or actually notice that he was wearing armor instead of being dressed in rags. Or the fear that could probably be seen in the top half of his face.

They made it up the steps and the beggars were shoved through the doors. Most of them stumbled through, the roars of the dragon still ringing in the skies above and the clouds taking a red tint like a massive storm was coming, mythical in proportions.

The guard shoved Cosnach, and he naturally punched back. The guard kicked Cosnach’s stomach and his friend tumbled down the steps. He quickly got out of the reach of the guards and stumbled down the steps to his friend, bending down to help him up. He saw the tiny bloodshot veins in the whites of Cosnach’s eyes as he offered an arm up to the man.

_Roar_

He looked up in the sky and watched as his most recent nightmares rose from behind the high walls of Markarth that he had once dreamed of seeing the beyond off.

The dragon nonchalantly crawled over the high stone walls of the city. It eyed the entirety of the city with beady, tiny evil eyes. The creature’s great wings casually lifted into the air, making the already massive beast appear all that much larger than it already was. It opened its great maw, bearing all its deadly teeth.

“ _I am Mirmulnir. Fight courageously._ ”

“M-mirmulnir?” He stuttered.

“You understood that?” Cosnach asked.

“It was clear as day.” He muttered, forcibly yanking Cosnach to his feet and started shoving him towards the doors to the Jarl’s palace.

“It was nonsense.” Cosnach muttered.

“It said that its name was Mirmulnir, and to fight courageously,” He said, edging Cosnach to the top of the steps and then through the stunned guards, never breaking eye contact with the dragon “Hopefully… it meant the guards, and not us, friend.”

“Hopefully.” Cosnach chuckled nervously.

He shoved Cosnach through the doors and then slammed it shut behind them, helping a few of the other villagers slam the bolt shut to bar the stone doors. Leaving the bastards to their fate.

* * *

Most of the town was inside. Those that could fight and were willing to fight a damned dragon were outside and fighting that dragon. As far as anyone knew, only a handful of faceless guards were the victims of the dragon so far. He wondered vaguely is Vorstag was alive. The man may have been a Nord, but the man was pleasant enough, and he liked hearing the man’s stories and gossip when he was in the tavern.

The Jarl, out of the kindness of his heart, fed everyone inside his palace with a simple Horker meat stew. While other complained about the simplicity of the meal, and the bareness of it without bread and ale, the beggars had to hide their moans of pleasure as they indulged in something with rich meat and vegetables and spices. Gods above, he missed spices!

When the meal was done, the beggars kept close to each other in a corner away from everyone else, as best to stay out of view. Though a rather springy noble woman sometimes walked by and giggled, waving a dainty little hand and blowing kisses at Cosnach.

“The young lady you ‘entertain’?” He asked.

“One of them,” Cosnach grinned perversely “But this one is infatuated with me.”

“Well… she seems… nice?” He offered.

“Naïve sweetheart.” Cosnach deadpanned.

“Poor, poor girl.” He snarked.

Smacking his arm, Cosnach peered none too kindly at a group of leather clad individuals standing a bit away. He looked over and immediately noticed that their armor was similar to the armor that he had pried off the dead man. Plain leather armor, hoods pulled over heads and faces, things to cover the lower half of the face and leaving only gleaming eyes. Shifting on his arse, he hid behind Cosnach, so that they would not see the similar armor and think that either their friend was dead or that he was playing nice with the beggars.

“Who are they?” He muttered.

“Looks like Thieves Guild,” A beggar grumbled “But they should be in Markarth. Why are they here?”

“Maybe they’re here to steal the silver? Finally! A group here for a plausible reason for being in this Oblivion cursed city!” He quipped.

“Hopefully they don’t find out about your armor,” Cosnach said “No telling what a scoured thief will do.” Cosnach quipped “Because you might just want to try your chances with the dragon then.


	4. Dovahkiin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiding from dragons, stealing from nobles, sweating his ass off and then devouring the soul of a dragon. What a horrible, awful, no good day he has had.

People pressed into one place for too long had a habit of causing something that he once heard called ‘Cabin fever’. As far as he knew, it basically meant that people forced to be around each other would eventually be at each other’s throats and get violent. Now, he was around the other beggars all the time, but many he had known for years and rather liked, so he assumed that it was more or less strangers or people of poor opinion of each other.

Beside the point, ‘cabin fever’ had already set in, and he heard a few people yelling at each other. Beggars, knowing better then to make each other known, watched from their corner as Thongvor Silver-Blood roared at the top of his lungs at some fluffy dressed noble man who looked like he just realized what he had done.

“Your patron is going to get his ass kicked.” He drawled to his friend.

“He is… isn’t he?” Cosnach grumbled.

The red faced, bald Nord kept hollering at the top of his lungs. He watched the Breton noble shrink more and more, almost going white in the face as he tried to placate the man’s rage. People avidly avoided the argument, looking one way or another or having their back to the argument entirely.

“Thieves are taking advantage.” A man grumbled.

He watched a slender, feminine figure slipping between the bodies, pale hands brushing against pockets and sides, the briefest flashes of coin, jewelry, and other shiny things that then went into the thief’s pockets. He watched the thief eventually make their way back to the other thieves, again the quickest flash of shiny things before they disappeared and the thieves again returned to looking innocent and calm.

“I used to be able to do that,” Garvery grumbled “Before age took my knuckles.”

“You can still slink around better then a cat.” He said.

“True enough, easy to get away from the fucking blind guards.” Garvery grumbled.

Thongvor was finally told to stop by none other than the Jarl himself. The wrinkly old bastard looked worn and tired and almost ten years older than he should have. Then again, the last time he saw the Jarl was when got into a fight with the guards and the Jarl had been called upon to deal with the ‘Daedric child’. 

The man knew about his mixed blood from the incident, along with a few of the older guards, and had avidly avoided him since learning it. The two other times that the Jarl had been called on to deal with him after he had gotten into fights with someone or another, the Jarl had immediately just ordered him thrown back into the Warrens. He should have taken some joy in the fact that he perturbed the man so horridly that he refused to see him, but he just felt a bitter disgust against himself for being a freak.

Igmund yelled up and down until Thongvor backed off and left the noble alone. The big Nord left positively enraged, his family trailing after him to sooth his punctured ego and anger, and Igmund spoke quietly with the noble for a moment before leaving him to rejoin his own group. With the tentive peace restored, he felt fingers on his arm.

“My ribs hurt.” Cairine wheezed.

“Shit, now?” He grumbled, easing the poor woman onto her back so he could gently rub her sides.

Cairine had some disease, or at least, everyone hoped that it was a disease and not something one was born with. Usually she stayed in the Warrens and avoided moving, praying on the crumbs and scraps of the other beggars to survive and on him to get her potions when the disease flared up. If the flare up were left untreated, the poor woman was left in terrible, terrible breathless agony for hours.

“How bad is it? Do you think that you can live another hour or so?” He asked quietly, kneading her sides as he felt the coming of muscle spasms.

“No.” Cairine moaned.

“There isn’t much I can do, Cairine,” He said, watching her jerk and spasm helplessly “A dragon is attacking the city after all.”

Cairine moaned loudly.

He supposed… that he could try and find something in the castle. But there were so many people, and he was still trying to hide from the Thieves, and he could not sneak worth a damned. He could hide pretty damned well, but sneaking in plain sight was not his forte. Besides that as well, he could feel warmth creeping up his spine that foretold of a fever from being around so many people. If he had to do it, it would have to be for them both.

“…Wait… Garvey?” He asked quietly “Could you…teach me to sneak?”

* * *

With a few tips and tricks from Garvey, he managed to cut through the rabble in the palace, avoiding the scanning eyes of the thieves to avoid making a scene, and walked casually through the people until he made it to the door to the Jarl’s quarters. Lucky for him, and his nonexistent lockpicking skills, the door was not locked and he easily slide the doors open and quietly shut them behind him.

Creeping through the room, he was slightly bitter that the Jarl lived in such luxury and still did nothing about his poor. Then again he was a Nord in a city that lived off back breaking slave labor and silver, and he was but a poor mutant beggar who just whined about his situation without doing much about it. But… come to think of it…

He was already stealing from the Nord… why not steal some shiny bits? The man would hardly miss anything of his, and if he did, he just needed to wait to acquire some profit from his silver mines. He… would not be able to make himself do it. It was stealing, it was cowardly, and his stubborn pride would not allow him to steal from a man, no matter how rich or how much of a fucking coward said man was, and even if it would help say help his friend’s dream of a home to call his own.

He would not, he could, and probably would never steal anything purely for gold’s sake. He would not do onto others what had been done onto him since he was a child and first begging on the streets. Perhaps the old man would get what was coming to him, eventually. There was always that Civil War between the Stormcloaks and the Empire that the beggars were dreading…

Digging around the Jarl’s room, he found a few bottles that smelled like the right potions, and pocketed a few more just in case. Looking around to make sure that the man was not hiding the potions, he was almost out the door when something caught his eye. 

When he turned to look, it was a very gaudy necklace that he had probably avoided looking at to resist the urge to steal it. It was made of a thin silver chain, beads of diamonds with gold stripling, and a large pearl and diamond and gold decorated heart shaped charm. It had to be worth almost ten thousand gold, if not more, and was probably a tribute or some offering because he could not honestly think the old bastard would willing have something like it made.

It was… so tempting to just take it. It would probably set the beggars up for life, or well enough for them to clean up their lives and get jobs and pretty much give them more than enough of a chance to at least stop being beggars. But… that necklace would be missed. Something like that would be missed dearly, and the blame would be placed firmly on the beggars since it they were simply there. No, he had to resist. The allure of a comfy life would have to be put off.

Swallowing the temptation and letting his pride puff up his chest, he walked out of the room and snuck back to the other beggars, closing the door behind him.

* * *

The potions helped, but it was too late. Cairine ended up curled up in a tight ball, moaning in pain as the veins in her temples bulged and sweat dripped down her face. His own fever had reared its ugly head and he started baking in his own armor, feeling the cloth of the armor soak in an instant as his stomach started kicking his intestines.

While he moaned in misery, wanting so badly to get out of his armor but unable to, Cosnach and Garvery tried to sooth him and Cairine. Garvery messaged Cairine’s sides and pulled her dark hair away from her sticky cheeks and Cosnach let his head rest on his thigh with his hood down, hiding the worst of the scales and pretending to touch his face to hide the rest if a stranger got too close. The wiry muscles were warm, and Cosnach could probably sweat dripping down his thigh, but having his hood down helped some, and no one gave him two looks if he kept his eyelids mostly down.

“I wonder when they’ll fucking kill that dragon,” Garvery grumbled while Cairine spasmed underneath his hands “It’s almost been two hours.”

“Soon.” Cosnach said, simply to sound optimistic.

“Hopefully.” He groaned.

He angrily scrubbed sweat from his face, finding some small comfort in all the dirt that was getting washed off. Hopefully the dragon was slain soon… he was starting to think that Cairine and himself needed some powerful potions for their health… this fever of his was starting to make him a bit… light headed.

“Hopefully.” Cosnach gruffed playfully, tweaking his ear to make him jump and swat that cheeky bastard.

A few minutes later, however, he was starting to lose consciousness and Cairine was spasming out of control, letting out high pitched sounds of pain. Garvery risked asking a guard for help and got punched in the mouth for the trouble. Cosnach asked him if he should have risked asking his patron for help, but he was not coherent enough to answer his friend, letting his worried friend try to pry off as much armor as he could without exposing scales.

He was vaguely aware of the rough pads of Cosnach’s fingers and palm against the back of his neck as he was propped up against the cool stone to cool down, but besides that he was almost in a fiery Oblivion like dream state as he felt sweat just poor down his face and soak the underclothing that he had been stripped down too. He even felt his tail move restlessly in his trousers leg in an attempt to find cool skin to rest on.

Barely able to keep his eyelids open, he knew he should have felt something about the scales on the corners of his jaws, along the sides of his neck, on the backs of his hands and fingers and his red eyes being so visible… but he was so tired. So very tired, and burning up inside his own skin. Besides, not like anyone was concerned with a worthless beggar like him anyway…

* * *

Something that felt like only a few seconds to him, turned out to be almost three hours after the initial dragon attack, as Cosnach lifting him up jostled his mind enough to stir partial awareness from him. He felt the warmth of Cosnach’s shoulder against his cheek and weight on his lap, and warmth underneath his knees. When he took in account that he was still burning up, he groaned at being moved and feeling his stomach give his liver a good, hard kick.

“Dragon’s dead, we’re going home.” Cosnach said.

“Strip me when we get home.” He groaned.

Cosnach chuckled perversely and he knocked his forehead against Cosnach’s jaw.

“Shut up, ass.” He managed.

He felt movement, and settled in to get comfortable. His mind wavered and started to un-focus again, focusing when he felt the slightly cooler air that was outside. He tried to settle more comfortably in Cosnach’s arm, hoping that he could make it to the Warrens to get out of his clothing and just cool down in naked splendor in the safety of the Warrens. He just wanted to cool down again…

_Dovahkiin_

…What?

“What you say?” He mumbled against Cosnach’s shoulder.

“Nothing?”

_Dovah…kiin_

“You’re lying.” He grumbled.

“You’re delirious.” Cosnach said, worried like.

_Dragon kin… Dragon Born… you are… Dragon Born…_

“Ass…’m not a dragon.” He grumbled.

“I didn’t call you one. You’re really feverish, relax.” Cosnach muttered.

_Dovahkiin_

He felt some strength return to him as he felt a cold chill down his spine. He cracked open his eyes and looked around.

They were almost to the Warrens, just passing by the smelter for the mine. In a bloody heap that dyed the river’s waters read, was the maimed and almost butchered corpse of the dragon, distorted and bent way out of shape and tangled in the smelter’s platform. Its eyes were dead and dull and it was currently being cut into for the meat and scales.

_Dovah… Dovah… Dragon… Dragon…_

“Dragon.” He muttered, eyes drooping.

“Yeah, it’s dead.” Cosnach muttered.

_Dovah… Dovahkiin…Dragonborn._

“Dragonborn.” He mumbled.

“Alright sicky, we’re almost through the door.”

_Dragonborn… Dragonborn… Dovahkiin…Dovahkiin._

“Dovahkiin.” He mumbled.

“Almost home.”

_Consume the soul. Consume the soul… consume the soul…_

“Put me down, Cosnach.” He managed.

Cosnach hesitated, and then eased him onto his feet. He opened his eyes and looked at the butchered corpse with a strange sort of clarity. He felt a… a need, a want, a desire, and a… hunger, deep inside his soul. He wanted to consume… but the dragon’s soul? What consumed a dragon’s soul? He wanted to fill the hunger… but why did he want to?

“You okay?” Cosnach asked, holding onto his shoulder.

_Dovahkiin… consume the soul… consume the soul…_

He took steps towards the dragon, feeling the hunger pull on him. His knees stopped feeling so weak, and the fever seemed second in his mind. Even the air on his scales, open for the world to see, was just a distant thought inside his mind. The guards gave him looks as he approached the dragon and he just ignored him.

The dragon twitched as he approached, and then the flesh started moving, changing, shifting, and then starting to burn away. He felt something inside of him open up, like a gaping maw, and felt tugging. He was pulling something in from the dragon… but what exactly?

Flesh burned away from the dragon’s bones, becoming ash and then light and then the light rushed through him. The light, made of so many colors, sunk into his skin and he felt something akin to great consumption inside of him. Something was devouring whatever was coming off the dragon and he felt his body fill with a mysterious power as he continued to consume whatever it was until nothing remained of the dragon’s flesh.

When everything was consumed, and nothing was left but a bloody and mutilated skeleton that fell into pieces, the guards were standing there gaping at him as he felt power hum along his skin. He tasted something on his tongue that left tingling sensations all over his skin and his insides. For the first time in his life, he felt energized and like he could do anything. He could climb mountains, take on dragons, escape this cursed city of silver and blood and just do anything that he set his mind too.

“By the gods… the Dragonborn?”

“ _Do-vah…kiin?_ ” His voice sounded alien. Too deep, causing the air to throb around him and filled with an unknown power “ _Zu’u…Dovahkiin?_ ”

“Hey… what’s wrong with you?” Cosnach asked.

“ _Zu’u…Dovahkiin_ ” He said, determined like.

And his mind was gone.

* * *

“Got it, Brynjolf.” Vex almost purred, the necklace curled around her hand and the heart pendant resting in her palm.

The thieves were staying in a room in the Silver Blood Inn, where a bag of pilfered goods from the entirety of the city was sitting on one of the beds, the contents gleaming in the low candle light.

“Good job lass. Glad to see something go off without a hitch.” Brynjolf grumbled, taking the necklace from her and pocketing it, thumping his pocket almost like a good luck charm.

“Wonder when the new guy will be back,” Vex said “We can head out now, and I’d rather leave. This city bothers me. All these rich pricks fighting over silver and all these limp dicked nobles pecking at bread crumbs.”

“He’s not coming.”

Looking, the two thieves saw Delvin as he closed the door behind him, looking quite cross with himself.

“What happened?” Brynjolf asked.

“Dead. Stabbed through the eye and left to rot. Someone took his armor.” Delvin said.

“So… he wasn’t with the beggars like we thought.” Brynjolf hummed in thought “Dammit, here I thought he was just gathering information. Who was wearing his armor then?”

“You’re not going to believe it, but this freak that may or may not be the Dragonborn.” Delvin snapped angrily.

“Really?” Brynjolf hummed. “What… what kind of freak?”

“Scaly elf, probably a magic experiment gone wrong.” Delvin scoffed.

“Hmm… interesting.”

“What? What’s going on in that ginger head of yours?” Delvin asked.

“Nothing just… we may want to talk to this Dragonborn.” Brynjolf grinned lopsidedly.

“What are you planning?” Vex immediately asked, sounding pissed.

“Well… that new lad was wicked with a dagger, right? Not mention, a rather muscular lad at that. So for this freak of ours to take him out? Steal his armor and hide his body so well? This Dragonborn might have some useful skills. So… let’s recruit this lad.” Brynjolf almost purred.

“…you sure that having a fabled ‘hero’ help us out will really help?” Vex asked, quiet skeptical.

“It might just be the thing to really break this bad luck streak of ours.” Brynjolf grinned crookedly.


	5. You're a Thief, Nameless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait!

He remembered when he was seven.

He was all wrapped up in rags and sat on a corner and begged for coin. His little ragged frame brought sympathy then, rather than disgust and spite. Back then, he rarely went hungry, not like it was now.

When he was seven, a band of soothsayers paced through Markarth. When one passed, she bent down to hand him a gold piece and to see his hand. The Soothsayers did not make a lot of coin, and she offered to see his future to make up the difference. He showed her his wrapped up hands and she pulled apart the rags. 

He tried to pull his hand away from her, but she just marveled at the patches of scales growing on the back of his hand, having yet spread so far across his skin. It was just patches of light green scales against his golden skin. It had yet to see the dark blues that he had, or the numerous scars.

She traced the lines on his palm, smiling as she told him that she saw a great destiny in his future.

He wondered… if being Dovahkiin was what that soothsayer saw… he wondered if… she saw his soul…

* * *

He woke up to Bothela yanking his eyelids open. 

His mind snapped awake in an instant and fully fledged panic took over him. He hacked up a wad of phlegm on her robes and backed away from her, a scream ripping from his throat as his nails found and shredded the thin blanket that he had been laying on. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the empty room in the Warrens before he got a splash of water to the face.

He spat out something, words befuddled and strange on his tongue and his jaw aching from the unfamiliar syllables. A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and he found Cosnach’s face in his own, his lips parting and words coming out and his mind not able to comprehend what his friend was saying. Rough fingers brushed his face and tried to soothe him, the hand on his shoulder squeezed it tight. Finally he started hearing words over his panicked breathing.

“…okay?”

“…huh?” He asked stupidly.

“Are you okay, my friend?” Cosnach asked, brushing hair away from his face.

“N-n… Niid…Niid…Nee….no… I… I’m… fen kos… I… _I_ fen kos… I… I will be.” He managed.

Cosnach brushed the hair from his face before turning to Bothela. The cranky old Alchemist was frowning deeply at him, like she was trying to figure out exactly how she was going to skin him for his scales.

“…what?” He managed.

“You are a very interesting young man,” Bothela muttered. “First being half Argonian and half Altmer… now it seems you are the Dragonborn. The last if the legends are to be believed.”

“Dragonborn?” He asked.

“Yes… Nordic tales tell of humans born with the souls of dragons. Being of great powers that voices break reality around them. They say words and those words turn into power. They breath fire, ice, they call storms and their companions, they become like the wind, they become undetectable. Their voice made them stronger, and able to kill the dragons that had enslaved the human race so long ago. Legends tell of a Dragonborn that will stop Alduin, the world eater, with his voice.”

“…That’s a horde of horse shit,” He snapped “I’m not some Nordic fold hero or some bull shit.”

“Then explain how you devoured that dragon’s soul.” Bothela said flatly.

…Was that what he did? Did he devour a dragon’s soul?

“You’re Dragonborn, and the people of the city have been whispering about it for three days.” Bothela said firmly.

“Three days… I was out for three days?” He asked.

“You were sick with fever, and something tells me that absorbing the dragon’s soul did something to you as well… it would at least explain the eyes.” Bothela muttered.

“Eyes? Eyes! What happened to my eyes!?” He snapped, rubbing along his cheeks and face.

“They’re… a nice shade of yellow now, friend.” Cosnach said gently.

“Shit… is it worse or better then the red ones?” He asked.

“…Worse.” Cosnach said quietly.

“Shit.” He moaned.

Cosnach hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him against the man’s chest, letting him bury his damned cursed face into Cosnach’s chest. He felt Bothela’s fingers prodding along his bare arms, only realizing that he was wearing only his breechcloth. He pulled back, shoving Cosnach away from him and tucking his legs towards him. His tail, being so weak and thin, did not move fast enough though, and before he could grab it, Bothela had a hold of it. Both the old crone and Cosnach went bug eyed at the sight of it.

“I never knew you had a tail.” Bothela cooed.

“You… have a… tail…” Cosnach muttered.

“LET IT GO!” He snapped.

Yanking it out of Bothela’s hand, he wrapped around it around his waist and curled up in a ball to try and hide the ugly deeply entwined in his skin.

“Nameless?” Bothela asked.

“Leave me alone!” He snapped, voice cracking.

He felt a rough hand on his shoulder that moved down all the way to the small of his back. He wanted to push the hand away, knowing full well what Cosnach was doing. But then the clever drunk bastard found his spine, and the small bumps that eventually became hard spines once it hit the very small of his back and then down his thin tail. The ones on his back did protect his back from some falls and hits, but were ultimately useless except for being rubbed and forcing his back to unknot and relax.

He shuddered as Cosnach really dug his fingers into the flat spines, getting at least his thin body to relax somewhat. He let out a small groan and let Cosnach uncurl him. He avoided the old eyes eyeing his Argonian like legs and the tail still wrapped around his waist.

“You’re far more Argonian then I thought…” Bothela said.

“Please stop eyeing me like you want to cut me open.” He said firmly.

Cosnach handed him his armor and he quickly got back into it, feeling the comfort of hiding his ugly skin again. He never did like anyone seeing how much Argonian showed on his body, even if it was Bothela and Cosnach. Cosnach helped him get his boots back on when his fingers failed him and his stomach was knotting itself into too tight knots. His friend was still here… after all this horseshit.

“What are you going to do?” Bothela asked.

“I don’t know…I don’t know anything about this Dragonborn business…” He muttered.

Perhaps it was his time to leave the city. He had always wanted to leave anyway, get away from it all and probably move South-East somewhat, to get in warmer and drier climates for his health. His health was good enough that he could probably actually travel for a day or two before getting sick, though he had not put on weight like he would have wanted. But… he could get away…

But leave Cosnach behind…

“I… want…I don’t know what I want,” He said “I could try leaving, but I don’t think that my shit health could handle it. Not for long anyway.”

“…I could help you, Nameless.” Cosnach suddenly said.

“What?”

“Give me a few days, my patron leaves then. The rest of the beggars will have the money for that house everyone wants and then some. We could take some of that money and leave in a carriage.” Cosnach said, looking animated.

“Cosnach… you want to leave?” He asked.

“You know me, none of us like it here in this damned city,” Cosnach laughed “Just… you’re really the only friend I got and I didn’t want to leave you here.”

“You would leave with me?” He asked.

“Yeah! We could… move somewhere warmer and nicer, like Whiterun. I’m sure we could find a job for me, get you on your feet and find a job for you. Maybe we could even find a house for the two of us?”

“…Just a few days?” He asked.

“Yeah, and then we’re gone. For sure!” Cosnach grinned.

A few days and he could leave with his best friend to a new city with a new start? Some place he was not sick if he stayed outside for more than a few hours? A place for just him and Cosnach… that sounded… it sounded like the best thing to ever happen to him. Maybe he had died due to his fever and this was some sort of blissful after life? Sounded right, anyway…

“Yeah… I’ll go with you.” He said.

* * *

It was a decision between both of them that he would remain hidden in the little room until it was time to leave. It would give him a chance to recover from his fever and try and bulk up his health for the journey, but also make sure that no one did anything to him with all this Dragonborn business in the city. A few of the other beggars told him how the city was in a controlled panic over the deal. How guards were torn between whispering about dragons attacking the city in swarms, or good luck and fortune blessing the city that raised the fabled Dragonborn.

He laughed at ‘raised’ but was glad that he was staying inside regardless. Something told him that he was either going to get swarmed with fans, or torn limb from limb from the fearful. He did not know about anyone else, but he rather liked having his arms and legs where they were. Besides that, if he was torn limb from limb, then Bothela would be there in a heartbeat to gather his guts and skin up for her potions and poisons.

His strength was thin and weak anyway, and he slept twelve hours at a time, woke up long enough to drink water and eat something before falling asleep again. He slept in full armor, not caring if it was a bit uncomfortable because he found himself cold all the time. It seemed that he keenly felt the cold and dry air of Markarth on him, like he did occasionally. It bothered his dreams as he tried to sleep.

The only time that he was comfortable was when Cosnach pressed against his back, nuzzling the back of his neck and talking about their cozy new life in Whiterun, or wherever, about how he would get a job for the two of them until his health stabilized enough and he could get a job. About how they would work and work until they had the coin to just enjoy the rest of their days. The soft and warm words often lulled him to sleep, not in a boring manner, but like a fairytale sort of way.

The thought of having a roof over his head, coin enough to eat and a job was all a fairytale. It was all comfy, too comfy with the life that he had had so far. While most people had a certain job, or an elaborate destiny, or a certain lover in mind, he just wanted a job, a house and to not go hungry. Maybe not get sick if he was outside for more than a few hours. He just wanted to be comfortable and happy. Was it so much to ask of the realm?

Maybe, judging by his luck so far.

Either way, just the thought at a chance of such a thing and he felt better than he did in years. As his strength returned, he peeled again and fed the skin sheds into the fire. Not only that, but he picked all the knots and tangles out of his hair. It was still too wiry and dry and dirty to do much with, but it looked the best it had in months. Not only that, but he risked it and washed his face and hands as best he could. With the scales freshly peeled, the scales on the backs of his hands and on his neck shined all pretty like.

He was all ready to leave this awful beggar life behind.

Then everything of course, went to Oblivion.

* * *

They had to so called Dragonborn on his knees.

His friends, the dirty and nasty beggars of the city, were being pressed against the furthest back wall with Vex and Delvin keeping daggers pointed at them to keep them there. A rather frisky and edgy blonde drunk was sprawled on the ground, blood dripping from his nose and mouth from where Vex gave him a few pot shots. Bastard had it coming.

The Dragonborn had his hands raised, an obvious air of anger radiating off him. He was still rather miffed that his friend had been knocked unconscious, but willing to cooperate so that his friend was not knocked dead instead.

He got down on one knee and looked at this scary, fabled hero. He could only see a dirty, golden colored chin of what looked like an Altmer, but the hood of the stolen armor hid the rest. So he pulled it back and my, what a surprise was underneath. Golden skin across the rest of a rather young and what would have been a rather pretty face if the poor kid gained twenty pounds. A pair of elf ears stuck out almost directly away from the skull, low and slightly curled on themselves, pale yellow lizard eyes looked from underneath thick, blonde eyelashes, and the pattering of scales alongside the neck that grew thicker and darker towards the back of the neck.

Delvin was right… this lad certainly was not normal. But he found it rather… interesting. A face like that was bound to hold an even more interesting story. Perhaps such an interesting person was just what they needed to get their fickle patron’s favor back? Or perhaps he was just curious about the too thin, almost pretty young man in front of him?

“You’re probably wondering why we’re here,” He said quietly “Or perhaps you’re not. You seem clever enough.”

“Your friend attacked first.” The kid spat.

“My ‘friend’ was a trained man, and what are you? Some teenager that looks like mage experiment gone wrong?” He smirked back.

The kid snarled and he saw pointed teeth.

“You see… that friend of mine…” He smiled coyly, feeling the lie coming to him immediately “Owed me a great deal of money. A lot of money. He was stealing things for me to help make up for it. Now… I’m not sad that he’s dead, trust me, but I don’t like being jipped that much coin, _especially_ that amount of coin.”

The kid’s face fell, the yellow lizard eyes opening slightly and light hitting them enough that he saw that there were flecks of red and gold in them, gave them a gorgeous sort of depth, like flawless gems.

“Now, tell me lad, what are we going to do about that?” He asked “Are we going to kick the coin out of you lot? Skin your valuable hide and sell it? Perhaps I just sell one of you off into slavery, or a dirty and cheap brothel.”

Actually, chances were that if the kid wanted to go that route, that Mercer would want him, make him ‘pay back the debt’ one round at a time. Kinky old shit would love the kid to bloody bits and pieces he would.

“…Or join you?” The kid asked, suddenly looking angry again “That’s what you’re getting at, aren’t you?”

“Clever kid.” He grinned.

“… If I join you, will you let the others go? Unharmed?” The kid asked, angry and rebellious.

“You have my word.” He smirked.

“Oh, funny, the word of a thief.” The kid deadpanned.

“I vow not to harm them, or I shall pluck all of Vex’s fingers off.” He smiled.

“HEY!”

“…Then you have a deal, jackass. I’ll work for you to pay off this bastard’s debt.” The kid muttered.

A defeated and broken pride… he rather liked seeing that. Then again, he would probably like seeing this kid grow into a thief role. Get those slender, dark nailed fingers to pick locks in fractions of seconds, get the kid to walk so quietly that death seemed noisy, have him slip even beloved things out of people’s pockets. Oh… he would enjoy watching his new pupil grow.

“Alright lad, you start immediately. Vex, Delvin, we’re leaving.”

Delvin came over and grabbed the kid’s wrists and started yanking him towards the door while Vex quickly made herself scarce. The kid pulled on Delvin’s hands, fighting to get free, before looking over his shoulder at the unconscious blonde.

“Tell Cosnach… I’m sorry.”

Out the door they went, into the brisk night air of Markarth, out the front gates and too the waiting carriage. The kid was shoved inside and shoved to the very back, so he had no ideas about abandoning cart mid journey, and the driver told to start booking it. No telling when the Jarl and other residents started to realize that their shinnies were missing.

Besides, the scowling brat had a story to tell him, and what better way to pass such a long carriage ride to Riften, then with how such a creature such as the brat was born?

“So, now that we’ll be working together, what’s your name?” He asked, nudging the kid’s ribs with his boot as the kid struggled to sit up.

“I don’t have one.”

“…Pardon?”

“No parents, no need. I am literally nameless.” The kid snapped.

“…Then Nameless you shall be,” He grinned “Since I’m your Master now, that’s what I’ll call you.”

“Oh, how original.” The kid gruffed.

“First thing we’ll work on is that attitude of yours. Now… how’s about tell me how something like you was even made?"


	6. Never Trust A Thief

“I don’t know.” He snapped angrily, feeling the veins in his forehead bulging with irritation. 

“Come on! Something like you doesn’t just appear… or does it?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Come on! Naughty elf momma shagging the Argonian dock worker? Brutish Elven master raping the lusty Argonian maid? Kinky elf mistress and Argonian maid and weird magic? Elf master and Argonian butler and weird magic?” The blonde bitch pressed “Possibilities are endless, really.”

“Hey, are you going to teach me to lockpick or not?” He snapped at the blonde.

At the moment, he was trying to pick open a ‘practice’ lock while the carriage thumped along. The blonde bitch, he thought her name was Vex, had been placed in charge of teaching him how to lockpick while the red head and the bald Breton watched, amused. For the past seven hours all three of them had been trying to pry his origin story out of him, only to be disappointed when he told them he did not know who his parents were.

“So you’re saying that all you remember is someone telling you that you that a hooded figure dumped you into the arms of a beggar and you’ve been raised by them since then?” Blonde bitch snapped.

“Exactly!” He snapped back, promptly breaking the lockpick he had been using.

“You suck at lockpicking.” Blonde bitch growled out, throwing another lockpick at his head.

“Maybe if you taught me something, bitch!” He snapped, giving her a knee a kick.

“Now, now kids.” Ginger grinned.

“FUCK YOU!” Blonde bitch and himself roared in union.

He jabbed the lockpick into the lock, gave it a hard shake and the lock popped open. He did not even have time to enjoy the small victory before blonde bitch took the lock back, slammed it shut, shook it hard and handed it back. Sighing to himself, he pressed the lockpick into the lock and tried carefully to lockpick it open again.

“Still… someone squeezed you out. Haven’t they tried to contact you, at all?” Ginger bastard asked.

“No. They threw me away like garbage.” He snapped bitterly.

“Well… if there’s one thing that you’re not, it’s garbage.” Ginger bastard grinned.

That was another thing that was bothering him. This ginger motherfucker had this weird way of talking to him. It was borderline flirtatious, or something that was overly friendly. This guy spoke like he knew him, like they were buddies and not in a messed up master/forced pupil relationship. This guy had no right to be so friendly with him, and it was starting to really fucking creep him out.

He worked on the lock, sliding the pick along the mechanisms inside of it, feeling the pick catch sometimes but not fall into anything. Blonde bitch at least told him that he would feel the pick almost fall into something when he was picking, that he would _would feel it_. Mostly he was feeling rather pissed off and irritated, but he mostly blamed that on blonde bitch.

Working the pick further in, his pick fell into something and the lock popped open again. Vex ripped the lock from his hands, popped it closed, shook it hard again and handed the lock back to him.

“Oh fuck y-“

His curse was cut off with a sharp wheeze and a bout of coughing caught him off guard. It took him a moment to realize that him being pissed off had been hiding a light fever and now his body was making its sickness known. He curled in on himself as he struggled to breath.

“You okay lad?” Ginger bastard asked.

He swatted away the concerned hand on his shoulder and felt his eyes water as air was blocked from his lungs. A hand thumped his back hard, and he managed to suck in a breath in between coughs. Just enough cool air and he managed to catch his breath. He sucked in air, calming his burning lungs enough that he could look at the three thieves staring at him questioningly.

“Congratulations. You choose the man that can’t be outside without getting sick. Good fucking luck trying to turn me into a thief.” He snapped bitterly.

“You get… what?” Blonde bitch snapped briskly.

“Sick. You think this freakish appearance is just looks? No. My health is fucking shit. I can’t be outside for more than a few hours or my body starts breaking down on me. Fever, breathing problems, crippling pain, delirium, and eventually death.” He snapped, wiping away at his mouth.

“Hmm…” Ginger bastard hummed “Both Altmer and Argonians live in hot, warm areas. Argonians live in wetter places, and Altmer in drier places. So… I wonder what will happen when we get you to Riften?”

“That shit city? What’s so good about that city?” He grumbled.

“It’s relatively warm and the city’s half way submerged in water, surrounded by water. It’s in the air lad,” Ginger bastard smiled slightly “Warmth and water? I’m wondering if you’ll do better than in the cold and dry Markarth.”

“Like I’ll ever be healthy.” He sighed bitterly.

He popped open the lock again and again it was reset for him. He was starting to get a hang of lockpicking, but felt like this practice lock was way too easy. Maybe if he got good with the practice lockpick, then he would not suck too bad at actual locks, and maybe he would not feel so disgusted in himself that he was now thief for living.

He already was sick to his stomach about the thought of having to steal for a living now because of some faceless asshole. Now he was going to take from the same people that he was, and now he was going to live off ill gained goods. The only thing that he could think of that would make up for this whole bullshit business, was that he could send extra money to Markarth and to Cosnach. Maybe Cosnach would take the money and leave and he could send money to him. Cosnach could buy that house and live off his own wage and his ill gotten gold and when he worked the dead man’s debt off, he could go live in that dream house of theirs and hate himself for the rest of his life.

The lockpick broke in his hand and slit the side of his hand open. Hissing in pain, he clutched his hand to his chest and saw the bright red blood dripping down the front of his armor. He brought his hand up to his mouth and licked along the cut, catching some of the blood and catching the blonde bitch’s attention.

“What in Oblivion did you do?”

“Shut up.” He snapped.

He licked until the cut until it stopped bleeding and then held it as he watched the cut scab over.

“Come here, lad. We’ll wrap it.” Ginger bastard said.

“Fuck you.”

He was on his own now.

* * *

When the carriage stopped for the night, while ginger bastard and blonde bitch enjoyed the warmth of the inn fire and warm food, bald prick took him outside and continuously fed him health potions and cure disease potions to keep him relatively healthy as he was taught how to sneak.

Garvery had been kind in his quick pointers about sneaking and stealth. Delvin swatted him with a thin stick every time that he was caught. He got welts up and down his arms and legs as he tried to sneak through the shadows and through foliage, sometimes getting his ears clipped through his hood and once getting a hit on his chin because he tried moving out of the way from the strike.

Delvin made him practice for four solid hours before he could stumble back into the tavern to a rather cheery and chipper blonde bitch and ginger bastard. He collapsed into a chair and felt the welts on the backs of his thighs and ass sting bitterly.

“How’d he do, Delvin?” Ginger bastard asked.

“He’s not bad, better than we thought anyway. Still gots a way to go.” Bald prick grinned.

“Go fuck yourself.” He growled weakly.

He choked down another cure disease potion and felt himself go limp in his chair. The edges of his vision started going dark almost immediately. However, something delicious smelling was placed underneath his nose and his eyes opened to the site of beef stew underneath his nose. Immediately taking it from ginger bastard, he ended up scarfing half of it down before his stomach complained from the fullness and he set it aside.

“Not hungry?” Ginger bastard asked.

“It may surprise you… but I’m not used to eating full meals.” He snapped bitterly.

“Anyway, lad, I thought I better tell you about your new family.” Ginger bastard said.

“They are not my family.” He growled.

Ginger bastard lifted his hands as a sign of peace, grinning though and not meaning it.

“Listen. We’re the Thieves’ Guild, basing out of Riften. We only have a few to our name, but only because our luck has turned sour. We’ve been scrapping by, barely. Lately we’ve been trying just about anything to gain the luck of our patron, Nocturne, back. You’re probably going to be one of those ways, by the way. Fresh blood and all that.” Ginger bastard grinned.

He looked at the thick scab on the side of his hand. It was going to hurt like a bitch over the next few days.

“Our leader is Mercer Fray. He’s a sneaky old bastard, damned good with locks and quite pissed off that our luck is going downhill. You better be nice to him, he’s not a nice man, and if he found out about you? Well… let’s just say that he’s not a nice man _all_ around.”

…Did this man just say what he thought he said? What the fuck did he just get himself into?! Gods above?!

“Any questions?” Ginger bastard asked.

“No.” He muttered.

* * *

When he woke up, he threw up his guts and was left shivering in bed until ginger bastard opened his door and saw that he looked like death. The man’s accented words fell on woolen ears and he ended up throwing up on the ground. When a Cure Disease potion was shoved down his throat, he ended up throwing it up and passed out.

When he woke up, half of his face was smeared with thin phlegm and his throat was stripped raw. He had been left on the floor of the carriage and his head left to hang off the end of it, so that he could throw up in peace. Each time the carriage rocked, his body heaved but had nothing to give and he ended up punching ginger bastard’s kneecap as hard as he could.

He swallowed a Cure Disease potion and forced himself to hold it down until the nausea was tolerable. Even then, he ended up taking up an entire side of the carriage as he laid on his back and felt his stomach clench with attempts to vomit. Ginger bastard got him to drinks half swallows of water, but it burned his throat and only added to his torments.

When night came, he was still too sick to do anything. He got to lay down on a soft bed and fiddle with the lock while his stomach did backflips and kicked his intestines. It was nice to lay in a nice, soft hay mattress. When a rather kind barmaid came to check on him, he begged for a couple of blankets and she willingly obliged. Even his sick body managed to put out some heat and he was rather comfortable even as his stomach settled.

He managed to continuously pop open the lock within a few seconds. It seemed that his fingers were rather deft and could learn easily enough. He would need a better lock to practice on, or some real practice soon. Not that he was looking forward to it, and finding out that he apparently has some natural skill with lockpicking was fucking depressing. At least when he started paying off the asshole’s debt, then it would not be so hard.

He chugged a Cure Disease potion before curling up underneath the blankets and tried to get some sleep.

* * *

Between actually sleeping alone and having a terrible, terrible nightmare about his soul exploding inside of his body, he only got about an hour’s worth of sleep. He crawled out of bed, feeling like death. He sucked down a potion and cleaned up his face a bit. He found a straight razor by the basin of water and was tempted to slash his throat open.

Just make it all go away.

He had the razor in his hand, he had it against the bottom of his ear, and instead he cut away at the hair on the sides of his head. When the hair on top was longer and the sides shorter, giving him an edgier haircut, he tied his hair into a braid and kept it in his pocket. It was kind of creepy and maybe a little gross, but he would send it with his first letter back to Cosnach, so that his friend could have a little piece of him there with him.

He pulled his hood up and joined the others in the carriage. They had about two more days left, and Delvin was damned determined to teach him how to sneak when night fell again, and Vex insisted that he keep practicing with the practice lock until he was popping it open within seconds. Even then, she kept insisting that he practice and practice until his finger hurt and the scab on the side of his hand broke open and he licked it clean again.

Practice, practice and practice. He would eventually gain the skills of a thief, and start working off the debt of the asshole he stole the armor for. He would hate the skills that he was gifted, and likely spend his retirement hating his own guts and wanting to kill himself out of a sense of right. He just… needed to swallow his damned pride and get it over with.

Though it was killing him on the inside… that he was going to have to give up part of who he was… because of a damned faceless bastard.

* * *

They found out about his tail.

He was in a heated argument with bald prick about his ‘training’ and mostly just screaming at him for smacking him with a stick so often. He felt something off with a few of the scales on his arms and hands and was horrified to find that they felt and looked thicker, and more or less he was also freaking out on him and blaming him.

Brynjolf told him to stop acting like a child or he would get spanked. He told ginger bastard where he could go and perhaps what he could do with a twelve inch phallic, before turning to continue yelling at bald prick. When his back was turned, ginger bastard swung and he had taken a step forward. The man’s hand caught his thigh, or really, his tail which was wrapped around the thigh that ginger bastard has smacked.

His tail ended up getting smacked and he hopped around howling in pain for a moment while ginger bastard stared in horror. Finally ginger bastard asked what he had hit, describing in detail the shape and making it sound like he this monster dick wrapped around his thigh. When he became indignant about it, ginger bastard all but lead him into a corner that he either needed to tell the truth, or he would forever be ‘Long John’.

He ended fishing out his tail and showing them the useless thing. Blonde bitch laughed herself to tears about it, while bald prick tried to start on this whole spiel about how useful his tail would be and ginger bastard just smiled in that overly familiar way that had him stuffing his tail back into his pants and dragging the bald prick outside to get on with the sneak training.

Bald prick kept trying to get him to start training his tail and get him to use it and he had to retort, punching the man in the nose hard enough to break it, saying that Argonian tails were for swimming purposes only before leaping away to get away from the man’s wicked switch and to hide.

He still ended up getting his ear clipped.

* * *

“You’re going to have to learn how to pickpocket.” Ginger bastard said as he nursed his welts.

“Fine.” He snapped.

“First, start with the easiest target we can muster.” Ginger bastard said before gesturing to where they were.

They were in this rat spit tavern where all the occupants were either shady or raging alcoholics already deep into their cups. They were in the smallest corner, looking like the shady people that they were in their dark leather armor and the very ‘thief’ like way they moved and him hunched over and steeled.

“A drunk?” He asked bitterly.

“Correction! A sleeping, drunk.” Ginger bastard grinned pointing towards the rooms.

“ _Right._ ” He drawled.

“Bring me back… twenty coins, or something worth twenty coins.” Ginger bastard said.

Sighing and pushing down the rising disgust in his belly, he got up and started cutting through the crowd. At least the footwork being beaten into him was good for something, easily cutting through the rowdy crowd and moving too quickly for would be pickpockets to steal from his empty pockets.

He made it one of the rooms and casually walked in, closing it softly behind him. In the room was a passed out drunk, haphazardly tossed onto the bed probably by his buddies. He walked over to the candle, licked his index and thumb finger-pad and put out the candle before crouching low and approaching the sleep body that reeked of rat piss whiskey and plain piss. 

He lightly patted the man’s pockets, trying to find something. After his second pass, he felt a few gold coins that he pocketed. He looked around and found a few more coins. That made… seven coins total. Ginger bastard want him to find thirteen more coins or something worth thirteen more coins. So he left the man to wake up to find more coins.

He broke into two more rooms and managed to find seven more coins. Outside the rooms, he sat next to a drunk and let the man laugh and spew half formed words at him, falling on him and letting him quickly shoot his hand into the man’s pocket. A stray hand tried to grab his ass and he stormed off with twenty coins and a rather pricy looking ring that he decided to keep.

Ginger bastard smiled when he handed over thirty four coins.

“Want extra credit?” Ginger bastard grinned.

“Fuck you, I’m going to go get drunk off Cure Disease potions and get some Zs.” He snapped before heading off to his room.

A clever hand caught his waist and yanked him close to the ginger bastard, pressing him flush against the bastard. He immediately squirmed against the bastard, blunt nails finding the side of his neck and digging three red lines into the freckled skin. Ginger bastard hissed and shoved him away, and he stumbled to the safety of his room, feeling the need to be sick. He put out the candle and curled up on the bed, hugging his chest.

Sick bastard… sick bastard… first chance he got… he was going to _**kill him**_.

He patted his pocket, wanting to look at the ring he had taken, only to find that it was gone.

“ _ **That dick!**_ ” He snarled.

Just another lesson learned, or perhaps more then one.

Never trust another thief, never let someone feel you up especially a thief, and _never trust another fucking thief._


	7. Welcome to the Family (minor tw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Minor langauge, sexually aggressive/noncon fantasies/thoughts.
> 
> Nameless meets some of the guild, and Mercer targets some fresh blood

Lessons, lessons and more lessons.

They drilled him the rest of the journey like they were damned determined to get the skills drilled into his head.

Blonde bitch had him actually pick the lockets of the people in the small villages they stopped in, breaking into houses and chests and pretty much anything with a lock. Bald prick had him sneak through the villages, sometimes using lockpicking to break into houses and sneak through with sleeping or awake inhabitants. Ginger bastard had him pickpockets without getting caught and avoiding getting pick pocketed by him.

If he failed, he often got hit. Blonde bitch slapped him in this unique way that stung like a fucking bitch and often rattled his teeth, but did not leave a mark. Bald prick hit him with his switch, hard enough to welt but not break skin, though a few times his lip got him just plainly floored with a busted lip. Ginger bastard would just make him do it again, punishing him by frustrating him and getting his weak body to get sick with exhaustion and exertion.

Speaking of sickness, he found himself growing a bit healthier and healthier as they made their way down south. It was warmer, and there was more moisture in the air. He breathed easier at least, and he broke out in fevers less. Not only that, but between the Cure Disease potions and his so called ‘masters’ making him eat regularly, he was starting to put on weight. His ribs were just slightly less visible, just slightly.

He figured that he would probably be fully functioning with a few days at Riften. To think, the key to good health was just him throwing away his pride and becoming a thief.

Fuck his life.

At the very least, he figured that he was decently good at sneaking, lockpicking and pick pocketing by the time they made it to Riften. At the very least he was getting better at keeping Ginger bastard’s fingers out of his pockets. Seriously, he honestly felt like half the time that Ginger bastard was trying to pickpocket him he really was trying to feel up whatever skin was against his pocket.

One time he actually caught the bastard’s wrist before he could even touch him. While he seethed and glared absolute _death_ at the man, the ginger bastard just grinned all friendly like at him. Of course he actually had the audacity to punch the bastard in the nose then, grumbling as he walked off and ginger bastard held his nose.

He was going to have to watch ginger bastard. He was way too friendly like for his comfort and if the pick pocketing was anything to go by, then either ginger bastard was mentally ill, a very creepy man, or after his scaly arse. Any which way? Not a good thing for him.

At the very least they made it to Riften. The city was warm and kind of humid. He figured it was from all the water. Not like the water in Markarth. There was algae and fish inside the water, and it had all sort of litter inside of it, from what he could see as the thieves let him lean over a railing to look at it. He probably also had little worry that there were metal bits in the water. Perhaps he could actually swim? Maybe tap into his Argonian blood to try and strengthen his body?

But that would be for later. The thieves led him through the wooden and rickety city, filled with bitter looking people and shady eyes and shifty hands. It seemed that the city was filled with thieves and shady people of all kinds. Perhaps the thieves were parasites, feeding off the city and this was it going dry? Or maybe the thieves were part of the city, and everything was just this slurry of bastards that would steal your coin for kicks?

They walked past a temple to Mara of all gods, strange considering the city was festering with crime, and into the graveyard just behind it. They went into this little stone building, closing the door behind him as blonde bitch knelt before the stone coffin. She pressed a strange symbol of the front, causing a loud click to go off and then the teeth grinding sound of stone grinding against stone. The coffin jerked and started sliding back into the back wall.

He watched as the coffin slid further and further back until an entrance that lead into the earth was revealed.

“This is the entrance to the Thieves Guild. While a few people know about it, you really should go around telling anyone about it, lad.” Ginger bastard explained.

Scowling at the man, though he could not see anything with how low his hood was pulled down or the cloth around the lower half of his face. Best to hide everything about him. Bad enough that this dicks knew about his mixed blood.

Following after them, they entered the small hallway, blonde bitch pulling some chain to cause the coffin to slide back into place. Then they headed into this quant, slightly foul smelling room with a few dozen beds, a large thing of water and a large desk that was rather elaborate and with a very pissed off dingy blonde behind it.

Unfortunately for him, they headed for the dingy blonde. 

“Mercer? This is the one I was talking about in my letters… our new recruit.” Ginger bastard said as they approached.

The dingy blond looked up, looking even more pissed off up close, before turning to glare daggers at ginger bastard.

“This better not be another waste of the Guild’s resources, Brynjolf,” The dingy blonde grumbled before turning to look at him, straightening up and looking rather imposing for someone shorter than him “Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussions… you do what we say, when we say. Do I make myself clear?”

This threat sounded awfully like he had said it a few dozen times, worn around the edges and a bit tired and worn out sounding. But the death glare that he was getting was true.

“Yes… sure.” He said.

His tone was appreciated, judging by the way that the death glare managed to look deadlier.

“Good…now go make yourself useful. If I hear good things, then _maybe_ I’ll have something for you. And I better hear good things. Brynjolf has sent nothing but glowing letters about you.” Mercer growled out before turning to his papers and making it clear that he was done.

Ginger bastard grabbed his arm and hauled him off as blonde bitch and bald prick wondered off. He got dragged back up the way they came, ginger bastard humming a merry tune the whole way. Just outside the coffin, and he shook the bastard’s hand off of him.

“Where are you taking me?”

“First job lad, we’re going to put those new skills of yours to the test.” Ginger bastard grinned.

* * *

First, he had to steal a ring from one man and plant it on another.

The thought of having to frame an innocent man left a sour taste in his mouth. But his pride was crumbling away. He just wanted his freedom, and the ginger bastard held it above his head like a piece of meat. If one man got hurt… what did he care? The world already told him that he was unwanted, and the only person that cared about him was in Markarth. He could care when he was his own person.

First, ginger bastard changed into this fancy getup and started spieling this nonsense about this potion. He started in on something about Falmer blood and the like, though he was sure that it was probably just some skeever blood, crushed nirnroot and maybe some Health Potion. But it was interesting enough that a crowd gathered around him. When the last person gathered around him, he nonchalantly walked over to the jewelers stall. When the guards passed, he ducked down behind it and slid the screen open.

There were bits and bobs of gold and silver, pieces of jewels, as well as plain necklaces and rings. As tempted as he was to take something, Brynjolf had explicitly told him not too. He was to use his lock picking, stealth and pick pocketing skills and nothing else. Though he was assured that he would make money soon enough. So he pulled out his locking picking things and pulled the small iron safe box towards him.

With a few jabs, the safe box popped open. Rooting around the content, he found the slim, silver ring that ginger bastard had told him about. Slipping it into his pocket, he closed the box, snapping the lock shut again, putting everything back that got moved and sliding the screen dor shut. Slipping out from the stall, he waited for the guards to keep moving along their route before rolling forward and sneaking behind Brand-Shei’s stall and close enough to the man himself. While the Dunmer listened to ginger bastard spewing bullshit like a fountain, he slipped his arm between two crates. He had the ring between his nails, he reached out with his fingers and… he dropped it into the man’s pocket.

Backing away, he slinked away from the scene as Brynjolf gently weaned his way away from the crowd and then slipped past him. After a moment, he went after the ginger bastard. He found the man sitting on the stone coffin, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“What do you know? You are a lucky charm.” Ginger bastard almost purred.

“Fuck you.” He snapped.

“So cheerful. Here’s your coin lad, something tells me that you want to go send a letter home now?” Ginger bastard said, holding out a small pouch of coin.

“Yeah…” He said, having a terrible feeling that ginger bastard was up to something.

“Well… you can either send the coin back home… or use it to pay off your debt,” Ginger bastard grinned “Pick one.”

“… _ **I fucking hate you.**_ ” He growled before leaving.

* * *

Since he grew up poor, he did not have a proper education. Thus, he could not read or write unlike Cosnach who had been taught to read and write for his job, and he had to look around for the least shadiest person to write a letter back home for him. Eventually he just settled with stealing a few coins from a few pockets and paying the courier to do it. The man was at least not too terrible about it, only grumbling a bit.

The real thing was for him to be convinced to add the hair braid as well. He stood there and swore up a storm until the man finally got terrified of the wooden beams rattling around them and threw it in with the letter. He warned the bastard that he would personally hunt him down if he did not get a response in at least two weeks. He hoped that being the man with frightening yellow, lizard eyes and the voice that could shake buildings would work and he would hear back from Cosnach soon enough.

Now he… just wanted from time to himself. As much as he wanted to take after his friend and drown his sorrow, that would mean pulling down the half face mask that he was wearing and exposing his face. Not only that, but he only had a few coins to his name, so it was not like he could do anything of note… and his health was not good enough to tempt swimming for the first time…

Feeling sick, he returned to the Thieves Guild and found his way into the Ragged Flagon.

He figured he would buy food at least, and maybe learn some new members that he would probably end up working with later in his thief career. As he munched on a piece of bread, he ended up meeting a woman named Sapphire, Tonilia and Rune.

Sapphire wanted to know more about him, and after a sharp tongue match of angry words and finally heart breaking pasts, they were talking amicably. Apparently Sapphire being nice was a very rare event, as a man named Rune and Tonilia joined them soon after. Rune was a nice enough man, and easy to get along with, and Tonilia was a bitter but strong woman that he found himself liking enough.

Now he was talking well enough with them as he nibbled on bread.

“So… Brynjolf tells me that you’re special…” Sapphire said.

“What did that ginger bastard say?” He asked.

“You have scales.” Sapphire bluntly said.

“I…shit…” He sighed deeply before putting his dinner down and then pulling down his hood.

He sighed as they gaped at his odd appearance, taking in the eyes and the scales that they could see even in the low light.

“Holy shit, what are you?” Rune asked.

“My guess? Somewhere, a really fucked up Altmer and Argonian decided to frick frack until they made me. Truly however? I have no fucking idea.” He said, rubbing along the back of his neck.

“Can I… touch the scales?” Sapphire asked.

“…You want to… touch?” He asked.

“It’s just… there’s such a pretty shade of blue along the back of your neck.” She said.

Tonilia and Rune chuckled, getting a deadly glare from the woman.

“I… guess?” He said.

Hesitantly, Sapphire stretched out her hand and brushed her fingers against the back of his neck. The skin tingled with foreign contact and a small shudder shook his shoulders. After seeing his slight reaction, she firmly pressed her fingers to the very back of his neck, dragging her warm fingertips along the scale creases and the ridges of his spine that stuck out just slightly.

“Can you… feel this?” She asked.

“Yeah.” He said.

Pulling her hand back, she looked at her fingers as she rubbed them together, mulling the sensation over.

“The scales feel… strange.” She said.

“Like what?” Tonilia asked, as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Like… their almost smooth but not quite.” Sapphire noted.

“Weird.” Rune said.

Snorting, he tried to pull his hood up only for Sapphire to stop him. She was giving him a lopsided, but good nature smile.

“You may look weird, but at least you’re not the ugliest member here. You’re kind of… cute, actually.” Sapphire smiled.

Blushing, as it was the first time in his entire life that he had been called cute, he pulled his hood on and then pulled it down over his face as the three laughed at his embaressement. Once the giggles had been calmed, Sapphire yanked his hood back down.

“They’re going to find out eventually, and Brynjolf says nothing but good things, so you might as well keep the fucking thing down.” She said, ruffling his short hair.

“Besides, she’s right, you are cute,” Tonilia grinned, reaching across the table to pinch his cheek “What are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Twenty going on twenty one.” He snapped, smacking her hand away.

There was a moment of silence.

“…I need to put on weight, I know.” He grumbled.

* * *

Mercer Frey sat on his desk, looking at the strange creature that Brynjolf had brought in. The kid, though he did not look much older then fifteen, claimed to be twenty years old, too skinny to look it and too down trodden to look _that_ young. In the dim light of the Cistern, the scales along the back of the kid’s neck gleamed and sometimes he saw the flashes of the kid’s bright yellow eyes.

He wondered why Brynjolf would bring in such a creature. A kid like that was probably doomed to suffer for his skin for his entire life. Then again, his actions had already spurred the eyes of Nocturnal from looking upon them with good fortune. He just needed to keep funneling the money from the guild and he would leave. He would have enough gold to live like a king for the rest of his life.

Though… he would not mind getting a taste of the kid before he left. He was legal, after all, and he was far too interested to see where all the scales were. Brynjolf said he had a tail too… hmm…

Oh yeah, that was going to be a goal. 

Find a way to get the kid underneath him and dirty him right up. Pin him down and get him to scream and cry all night long. Drag his nails across all the scales along the kid’s body, torment the kid’s tail and ears, not stop until he was done and the kid was an over-fucked and sloppy mess. Maybe taking him along when he finally left the guild, keep him tied up the basement with only a collar and those pretty scales. Kid like that was bound to be a ripe virgin or a whore for the money, so it would be all too easy to train him to be a proper whore for his pleasure or the kid would already be trained, then he would be the good teacher he was and re-teach the kid everything. 

All those pretty colored scales and that pretty elf skin…

Hmm. Well, he would give the kid a chance. If he was a good thief, then maybe the kid would only end up in his bed once. If the kid was a piss poor thief… well the kid would need to get used to collars and not wearing clothes, cause then the kid would be his bitch when he left the guild to rot.

The kid looked over at him, almost like he felt the thoughts about him. He just grinned wickedly, eyeing him pointedly. The kid has this abject look of horror on his face, something that did something for him, and seemed to return to the bow that he was practicing with. Which was okay, that just meant that he could look at the pretty scales that he fantasized about biting and licking-

-And the sounds that the kid would make when he was pinned down and made to scream.


	8. Loud and Clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, been trying to help out a friend that recently came out to their parents. I'll try and have another chapter out later tomorrow

He got a letter back from Cosnach only a week later.

He could not read it yet, and the courier fled before he could bride the man to do it. So he settled with tucking the parchment into his armor and continuing about his way.

In that week he had done a hand full of other jobs for the guild. Collect from protection money, steal a few valuables, pickpocket a few people. They were small jobs to start building up a reputation with the guild, mostly, and to start paying off the debt that he was stuck with. But since he was pretty much using every coin he got towards paying it off quickly, he also had to do more side jobs for coin just for coin for himself.

The thing that he got stuck with was helping Tonilia. She needed help writing out letters and notes and then hiding and handing them off to the right people, someone that was quick and sneaky. When he tried to just help out with the hiding and handing them off, she got suspicious and eventually managed to worm out of him that he could not read and write. Now he was hiding and passing around notes and messages in the middle of the night _and_ getting writing and reading lessons during the day.

At least between eating every day and being in the warm and humid weather, he was not that sick. Frequent coughs and heat flashes sure, with a few spots of nausea and weakness. He had also managed to put on another five pounds in a week, further hiding his ribs underneath a budding layer of lean muscle. There was also just the smallest bit of fat to his otherwise thin cheeks, and while it did not do it by much, he was managing to look closer and closer to his age.

At least he was doing something other than wallowing in his misery again. Sure, his pride was in tatters and he hated himself with a passion, but he was getting healthy and he was still managing to make more coin then he ever did begging. That was always nice, even if the coin went straight to a debt that was attached to him.

After that week, Brynjolf pulled him off towards Mercer, saying that Mercer wanted to see the both of them. When he tried to pry more details out of the ginger bastard, as he was about to do his side job, he just clamped shut and tightened the grip on his wrist.

“I was thinking that it was time that we put your expertise to the test…” Mercer said as Brynjolf stood beside him

“Wait…” Brynjolf said “You’re not talking about Goldenglow, are you? Even our little Vex couldn’t get in.”

“You claim this recruit possesses an aptitude for our line of work. If so, let him prove it.” Mercer said with an edge of bitterness and anger in his voice, giving him the distinct feeling that this greasy blonde did not like him one bit “Goldenglow estate is critically important to one of our largest clients. However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Besides that, Brynjolf will provide you with the details.”

“Mercer?” Brynjolf asked hesitantly, probably fearing something in this nasty, greasy little blonde man “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What are you… oh… yeah,” Mercer grumbled “Since Brynjolf has yet to shut his trap about you and your skills. I hereby officially welcome you into the Thieves Guild.”

“And the last week hasn’t counted?” He snapped before he could help himself.

That got him a _deadly_ look from Mercer and a very comical _Oh shit_ look from Brynjolf. Mercer looked over at Brynjolf and Brynjolf looked over at Mercer. Ginger bastard pleaded silently with his eyes for several long moments before Mercer _growled_ like a gods damned mutt and then stormed off. Seeing that he was not just going and grabbing something to stab him with, Brynjolf let out a sigh of relief and turn towards him.

“Lad… that was close.”

* * *

Ginger bastard told him to get suited up in his official guild armor, which Tonilia had. When he told her about what had happened between Mercer and himself, she also seemed surprised that he lived.

“Mercer is not a nice guy, Nameless,” She said as she watched him pull off his old leather armor and hand it over “You’re lucky that he didn’t skin you right then and there.”

“Oh, real lucky.” He drawled sarcastically.

“I’d be careful, Nameless,” Tonilia said, handing him his new armor “We had a young recruit a few weeks ago that caught Mercer’s eye. She mouthed off a bit to him and low and behold, a few days later Mercer got her into his bed. Poor thing never recovered.”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Exactly what I’m implying,” Tonilia said, helping him do up a strap “So don’t provoke him.”

“Ha! No one wants my scaly ass that way.” He snorted.

“I don’t know… you are pretty cute,” Tonilia said “And Mercer likes them young.”

“I’m _fucking_ twenty.” He snapped.

“You _look like a_ sixteen year old.” Tonilia snapped.

“I do not!” He snapped.

“You’re skinny, you’ve got big eyes, you may be scarred but you’ve got young looking skin and you act like a punk.” Tonilia rattled off.

Grumbling to himself, he pulled on his armor before Tonilia went behind him and briskly readjusted it, tightening it too tight and then scowling when he tugged on the buckles and straps. But after fighting for a bit, they got his armor to lay flat on and comfortably and he looked like a proper backstabbing pickpocket. Tonilia did not appreciate that he had to say that to her.

“Alright now…did you just adjust yourself in front of me?” Tonilia snapped “What in the name of Oblivion! That’s gross!”

Blinking slowly, he wondered what in the world she was talking about… and then realized that he had just tried to adjust his tail against his thigh. She probably thought that he was adjusting himself…

“Wasn’t touching my junk.” He said.

“Listen, you’re a guy. You’re a guy with scales and sicker then Oblivion most of the time. But would you at least do that around other guys or in private?” Tonilia snapped, readjusting his shoulderguard “I don’t like guys doing that near-“

“I have a tail.”

“…what?” Tonilia asked, eyes going wide.

“I… have… a tail. Had one since I was a babe.” He grumbled darkly.

They already knew about his scales, his freaky eyes and his poor health. He might as well throw out that he had a tail.

“Tail… like Argonian tail?” Tonilia asked, stepping around him as if to see if it was sticking out of his armor, which he quickly stepped around so that she could not see the nothing that was there.

“Yeah… it’s wrapped around my thigh. I don’t like having it out.” He muttered, continuing to step around as she kept trying to look for his tail.

“Why? I thought Argonians liked their tails?” Tonilia asked.

“Argonians also use their tails to move and use it to swim,” He retorted “I’m not an Argonian, I don’t use it either way. So it’s… scrawny. Useless. Like the rest of me.”

There was a pregnant silence as Tonilia looked at him, chewing on her lower lip as he pressed his fingertips into the bump of the first coil of his tail around his thigh.

When he was young, he had his tail out. But it was one of the ways that guards tormented him too. If they could catch up quick enough to catch his tail, he was caught. The number of times they grabbed him by the tail to pull back and beat… They almost cut it off one time, had Cosnach not interrupted them. It was why he hid it, as the shame of his mixed blood grew, he just grew ashamed of the damned thing.

He was just so shamed of everything about himself-

Tonilia reached forward and tweaked both his ears at the same time, ripping a shrill sound out of him. Swatting her hands away, covering his poor ears with his hands, he glared through watery eyes at the scowling woman, wondering what in the name of Oblivion she just did that for.

“Look, kid, I don’t know if you don’t know this, but you ain’t got nothing to be ashamed off,” She said as he rubbed his sore ears “Since you’ve been here? Nothing’s gone wrong for no reason like it used too. We’ve actually managed to make money since you’ve been here. Not to mention, we’re a lot happier with you here. Mercer’s been less of a prick, Brynjolf’s been happier, and believe it or not, Vex has actually been less venomous since you’ve been here.”

He dropped his hands and felt his head dip in questioning manner.

“Yeah, sure, you’re weird. But nothing is normal around here. Besides that, you’re interesting, you’re still cute. _You’re a fucking experience that broke the dull around here_. So come on kid, put your chin up, things are looking up.” Tonilia said.

“Says the person whose here of her own free will!” He snapped bitterly.

That took her back.

“Whatever, I need to get this job done. Pay that ginger fucker some coin so I can go home sooner.” He grunted, throwing his arms up as he left for Golden Glow estate.

* * *

He felt like an asshole for what he said to Tonilia, and how he acted to her after she had just said something so nice to him. He figured he would steal a bunch of stuff to make it up to her so that she could sell it and make some coin. Perhaps just flat out apologize to her too.

But that would all have to be after he was finished this job.

Brynjolf wanted him to use no weapons, kill no one, and use his skills to his best advantage. He got no bonus for using no weapons, but he was given no weapons either, so he had little choice but not to use them to begin with. He figured at least, if he did not use weapons he could rub it into everyone’s faces that he did the job that even Vex fucked up. Bragging rights was always something nice to have.

So, he climbed one of the water-gates that lead out of town and stood perched on the edge. The sky was darkening above his head, and a wave of damned near black clouds was rolling in towards the city. He needed to hurry on with the job then, because while his health had improved a bit, if there was one thing that could kill him, it was being left out in the rain.

Pulling his hood up and then his facemask to hide his face, he stood up. Cracking his neck, he straightened his spine and cracked his jointed before ducking down and then diving into the water. The water was lukewarm at best as he neatly dove in. It soaked right through his armor and hit his skin within seconds. Once he was completely submerged, he felt… a distinct feeling of relief.

He just figured that it was Argonian blood, finally somewhere where it knew what was best, feeling as healthy and full of life as he ever would. It was probably how he mastered swimming in a week. Probably why he tried to find time to swim despite the fact that he usually started vomiting and breaking into fevers almost immediately afterwards. It was almost worth it for the few moments of total health that he had never had before in his life.

He figured that between the coming rain and his broken health afterward, he would need to get the job done quickly. He highly doubted that Brynjolf wanted to go hunting through a storm for his corpse and or sickened body. Not only that, but he did not want to die in the mud somewhere or in a strange house.

Breaking through the water, he came onto the shore and to the opening of the tunnel that lead into the sewer system.

* * *

“He’s been gone awhile.”

Three thieves in thick cloak stood on the docks that faced Goldenglow. A wicked storm had struck Riften and had been storming for almost an hour. Thunder and lightning shook and lit up the skies until they thought that the heavens would shake the earth underneath them. Warm breath actually came out in white puffs of steam as people bustled to get out of the literally freezing rain and gusting winds.

“He’ll pull through, he’s a tough lad.” Brynjolf said, not feeling his words reach his tone.

“Yeah, but this is a kid that vomits and sweats after swimming in Riften’s lake.” Vex pointed out.

“He’s determined, he will pull through.” He said.

“Hopefully. I think he’s the only reason that the guild’s been picking up recently,” Delvin grumbled, rubbing his hands together “I’d hate to start losing money again.”

Brynjolf watched the waters carefully, as they swished and churned as they were pelted with drops of freezing rain. He peered through the sheen of rain that made seeing into the distance impossible, trying to pick out something. He did not even see the beehives burning like he had asked the lad to do. So he wondered if the kid was waiting insider, hiding somewhere while he gasped and wheezed or was dying outsider. Poor lad… they were just starting to see improvements in his health too. Shame… really.

“Is that… smoke?”

Looking to where the beehives were, he saw a plume of smoke erupt into the air, followed by several more until he saw bright orange flames lick the air. Higher and higher they climbed until there was a spire of flames that seemed to surpass even the strength of the rain. He watched as smoke rose next to the spire, the same as the first time. Smoke rose out of the from behind the wooden fencing and then a spire of fire rose from the smoke, growing like the first until it could be seen for miles. But there was a pause in the next one.

“Come on kid, come on.” He muttered underneath his breath.

There was a long pause as the flames danced, twisting and turning and wavering like an illusion. After a long moment, there was nothing and they assumed that the boy had perished but a moment away from completing his goal-

“WHAT IN OBLIVION-“

There was something of a small explosion and the third spire of fire bloomed like a flower before settling into something like the spires before it. They heard screaming and shout from the island as the guards scrambled to get the fires taken care off. As the flames lit up the island like a beacon, he saw a dark shape scramble over the fencing and fall into the water.

“Was that him?” He asked.

“Where?” Vex asked.

Watching where the kid fell in, he watched the waters for any signs of a disturbance. Waiting, watching, eyes catching everything that even slightly different and watching for the damned kid to show up again. Anything to see those shiny scales again.

After several minutes, nothing happened and they feared for the worst.

“Well, looks like we’ll need to find new blood again.” Vex sighed.

“You’re right, I’ll-“

Water broke violently and the kid came clawing to the surface. He was down on his knees, grabbing the kid’s flailing arms and hauling him ashore, yanking the kid onto him and feeling the cold and wetness soak his armor as the kid flopped onto him. The kid’s thin ribs expanded and shrunk madly as he wheezed and breathed like it was the first time in a century. Thin arms wrapped around his torso and held on like he was an anchor and for a moment, he was glad to weigh the kid down.

Holding the kid close, he watched the fires of the beehives continue to burn through the storm.

* * *

It was his job to get the kid out of his wet clothing and get him to down a few potions.

Both things were hard when the kid was barely conscious and dripping sweat and water. He managed to get the kid down to his trousers before the kid started falling over on him.

“Easy lad.” He chuckled warmly as he propped the kid against a box.

The sounds of the others were rising to a fevered pitch in the other room. The job went off without a hitch, without altering a soul until the beehives were burning, without weapons and having stolen a good chunk of loot that they found in a bag tied to his belt. It was almost too good to be true and everyone was drinking themselves silly to enjoy the luck and good fortune while it lasted.

The kid was getting really warm to the touch, so he picked up a potion and tried to drip some of it into the kid’s mouth. But his lips clamped shut and it just dribbled down his chin and onto his chest. Sighing, he picked up a rag to wipe it up.

He could not help but notice the kid’s skin, since this was the first time he had seen it. The backs off the kid’s arms and his back were made of dark blue, to green to yellow scales that transitioned into golden Altmer skin. He could see that the kid’s sides were marked with scales that got darker as they went along his back. Not only that, but square on the center of his chest, there was a small patch of scales that were a pale green color, almost like they were protecting his heart.

Sure, his ribs stuck out a bit and his belly was still a bit swollen from starving, but the kid was cute in his own way. Not nearly as bad as some of the people he’s taken to his bed, that was for sure, definitely the most interesting though.

“Come on kid, this will help.” He said trying to feed the kid more but only managing to make more of a mess.

The kid groaned and whined, muttering miserably.

“Come on, it’s good for ya.” He tried.

The kid knocked the potion out of his hands, head lulling to the side.

“Kid, come on. Work with me.”

“Just… sleep… just need… sleep.” The kid moaned.

“You’ll die.” He chuckled.

“Not if… someone sleeps with me…need warmth.” The kid moaned.

…Well now.

“Drink your potion kid.” He said, feeling a sadistic grin pull at the corner of his mouth.

“Sleep… warmth…” The kid groaned.

“…Drink your potion lad and I’ll sleep with ya.” He grinned wickedly, licking his lips.

Groaning like a child, the kid let his mouth get opened and a potion poured in, drinking it down obediently. When the last of the potion disappeared down the kid’s throat, he tossed the bottle aside and picked the kid up, wrapping a cloak around the both of them and walking.

“Huh?” The kid croaked weakly.

“We’re going to sleep together. All nice and toasty.” He grinned, nuzzling against the side of the kid’s neck.

The kid rubbed his face against his shoulder, mumbling about a ‘ginger bastard’ but complacent in his arms.

Just what he was hoping for.


	9. Mistakes? (m/m smut)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: M!Dragonborn/Brynjolf. Implied sex. Oral sex, elf ear teasing, anal fingering, anal sex.
> 
> What happened last night? He knows all too well.
> 
> I'm not particularly coherent at the moment, so please excuse any glaring mistakes/improper wording. Have a good morning/afternoon/night pups.

“I fucking hate you.”

“You weren’t saying that last night, lad.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Oh? Ready for another round?”

Sniffing and wheezing softly to himself, he clutched the blanket tighter around him and continued to ignore the smug ginger lying in bed next to him. He glared even as he blushed in equal parts fever and embarrassment, trying not to think of how his sickened mind actually made him get into bed with this bastard of all bastards. Not to mention, the smug bastard was being just that, smug about it.

His tail curled around his inner thigh tighter, almost as if to hide the still sort of tender ring of muscle that he felt wetness try and drip out of. He blushed deeply when he thought how much was back there. He also tried not to think of the hickies along his throat or his inner thighs, or the light bruises on his wrists and along his hips.

“Come on lad, you enjoyed it plenty.” Ginger bastard grinned.

“Shut up.” He snapped.

“Moaning like you were,” Ginger bastard almost purred, his voice going deep and husky and his accent becoming incredibly thick and… shit “Holding on to me like you were.”

“Shut. Up.” He snarled, feeling his face go red.

Ginger bastard flipped over and flopped almost entirely onto him. He hid underneath his blanket as he felt heat along his scalp, hands grazing along the blanket until they found his hips. He was pulled back until his butt was against ginger bastard’s lap, in a rather familiar way if the immediate blush was anything to go by.

“You’re cute when you’re grumpy.” Ginger bastard purred into his ear.

“And how do you think you’ll look when I bust your nose?” He snapped “Let go of me.”

“Hmm… no.”

The blanket was ripped from him and he was flipped onto his back, clever hands finding and pinning his wrists to the bed as he curled up into a ball underneath the smiling rogue. But his body was already reacting. He could see the red and purple bite marks along ginger bastard’s neck where he marked the freckled skin with his teeth. Since the man was curled over him, he could smell the sweat and distant smell of sex off of him.

“You’re blushing.” Ginger bastard smiled softly.

“Fuck…” He only managed.

Ginger bastard grinned widely before bending down and kissing him. He tried to stop the shudders that ran down his spine and tingles along his scales, but the ginger bastard was a damned good kisser. He knew how to use those always flapping but damned clever lips best. He knew how to move his lips, what pressure to use, when to use the tip of his tongue to tease his lips and just how to make him blush darkly.

When the ginger bastard pulled away to lick at his lips, he felt deeply ashamed by how much of the fight had suddenly left him and the damned near full body blush that washed over him. He licked his own lips, feeling his legs part and flop to loosely wrap around the bastard’s waist. He did not want to look down to see that his prick was already getting hard.

“Where’s the fight gone?” Ginger bastard grinned.

He felt a sliver of rebellion and glared darkly. Something that was quickly robbed as ginger bastard bent down and licked his ear from earlobe to sensitive tip. He let out a terrible noise as shivers ran up and down his spine and that clever tongue kept licking along his ear, gliding up and down the length to avoid over tormenting the sensitive tip. The bastard was just…

Ginger bastard let his hands go and brushed his calloused hands up and down his chest, rubbing along his sides and teasing any spot that got him to react as his own hands went to ginger bastard’s back and found the marks that his nails had left the night prior. His clever tongue moved down, licking where scales met flesh and tormenting the weirdly sensitive nerves there that buzzed and hummed from the attention. Calloused finger rubbing along his chest, brushing against the thin patch of scales in the middle of his chest and sometimes brushing along his nipples that he did not realize were sensitive until last night and today.

He keened loudly when Ginger bastard’s lips and teeth found a spot on the side of his neck that was tender-

*Cough, cough, cough*

Ginger bastard pulled back, smirking to himself as he covered his mouth as wheezed and coughs quickly took his breath.

“Need a potion?” Ginger bastard grinned.

Glaring at him with watery eyes, he watched ginger bastard lean over to the bedside table to grab one of the few potions still there from last night. He let his hands get pulled down and wrapped around the potion. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he put the potion to his lips as ginger bastard ducked down further along his body. He just started to taste the bitterness of the potion on his tongue when he felt breath.

Almost choking, he let out a weak sound as Brynjolf wasted no time using his mouth to use. The ginger bastard tongued along his stomach, tasting Elven skin, dipping down to lick his belly button, sweeping to the side to taste the skin and scales on his hips. He sucked down a breath when the creases of his hips were licked slowly, his tail twitching around his knee where it had clasped onto him. He quickly sucked down his potion and managed to down it before he had to moan as ginger bastard took him into his mouth.

Writhing underneath the bastard, he tangled his hands in the bastard’s ginger hair as the bastard used his wicked tongue. He had no idea if it was because of his own lack of experience or just if the bastard was just that good, but the bastard was really good with his mouth. _Really_ good. He was pulling on the man’s hair in seconds, panting and writhing against the hands that grabbed his hips and pinned him.

“F-fuck, f-fuck.” He whined.

Brynjolf bobbed his head a few times, bobbing just enough to tempt him with the back of his throat, before pulling and looking up at him and licking his lips wicked.

“In the mood yet, kid?” Ginger bastard grinned, stroking his spit slicked full prick as if to torment him further.

He was breathing too hard and too fogged over to care anymore. When he tried to push ginger bastard’s head down again, ginger bastard knocked his hands away instead. Ginger bastard moved them around until he was in the man’s lap back to chest, his hips pulled up until ginger bastard could easily dance his fingertips underneath his spit slicked and erect prick and rub against the tender knot of muscle.

Bucking harshly, he tried digging his elbow into ginger bastard’s side but only having enough of a fight in him to nudge him. To take even that fight out of him, Brynjolf started licking his ears again, tormenting each slowly and carefully before moving to the other side and doing the same. Becoming a mess in the man’s lap, sly finger rubbed against his arse again, rubbing firmly before a calloused finger pushed inside of him.

Stretched from the night prior, and some of the man’s release inside of him still, it was too easy for the man to start thrusting his finger in and out of him, churning up his insides and getting him excited again. He found himself grinding his hips to get the most pleasure out of it. He could almost hear the smug bastard grinning behind him.

A second finger pressed in besides the first, gently prying him open, tenderly even, despite what happened last night.

“So kid… ready for another round?”

Sucking a breath in, he sucked down the pooling drool in his mouth.

“Just fuck me, you prick.”

Grinning like the cat that got the cream, Brynjolf got the bottle of oil that was more or less empty by this point, and got his fingers slick again. He only got a moment of those calloused fingers getting him stretched open again and slick with oil again before something hard was nudging against him.

His teeth slammed together as his sore arse was spread open again. The muscles in his thighs clenched in pain and a small noise of pain escaped between his teeth. Last night had been rather aggressive and he could feel it affecting him.

“Loosen up, kid.” Brynjolf purred in his ear.

“I-it hurts.” He grunted.

A hand found his prick and started stroking him, adding pleasure to the soreness and pain and making him spasm in the ginger bastard’s lap. If that was not enough, a clever tongue found the tip of one of his ears and started tormenting the damned sensitive things. His mind went to complete and utter mush then, too confused to focus on one sensation. Was he in pain or drowning in pleasure?

Brynjolf tormented him until he found himself planted in the man’s lap. Then he was suddenly twisted around in said lap until he was facing the ginger bastard. Letting out a surprised gasp, he tried to turn away but a surprising strong hand on his jaw stopped him.

“Shy?” Brynjolf teased.

He had a retorted on his tongue, until Brynjolf hook his legs onto his arms and suddenly bucked his hips. His words died on his tongue and he let out a surprised moan, blushing as he was all but forced to look at the smugly smiling ginger bastard.

With the leverage of having his legs in the crooks of Brynjolf’s arms, the ginger bastard easily started thrusting into him, rubbing along his insides and sometimes knocking against the spot inside of him that took his breath away and put pressure in his pelvis. Not to mention, having to look at the ginger bastard, he felt an embarrassing blush color his cheeks.

Not to mention, since he was so over sensitized from the night prior-

Ginger bastard lurched forward and kissed him, pushing his tongue into his mouth and sucking the breath from him. Little weak sounds were coming from him and he had a feeling that the fight in him was completely gone.

* * *

When he finally stumbled out of the room, he was walking with a heavy limp that plainly told of a long and exciting night and even more so morning. He felt himself blush underneath the cloak that he stole from the ginger bastard since he never got to get his shirt back on before Brynjolf had dragged his sick arse to the tavern, as the eyes of the bar took him in. They would not see much, as it was a long cloak that was hiding him, but they would probably see his tail swinging limply underneath the cloak and flashes of his scaled hands.

Maybe his identity would be hidden that way? Rumors of a strange Argonian that Brynjolf took to bed? As far as he had heard, the only Argonians were the ones that ran the very tavern…

Clutching the edge of the table as he tried to get his jelly legs to cooperate with him, he failed to notice ginger bastard coming up behind him until a sharp smack to his arse sent him wobbling forward a few steps. Turning to glare as he braced himself on a table at the slyly grinning bastard, looking oh so smug about him, the ginger bastard winked at him. He heard a few of the bar’s patrons chuckle and mutter pointedly.

He knew his voice was still a bit raw, and did not want to give the tavern goers any more ammo to throw at his back, so he forced himself to stand and try hobbling to the door. Taking five painful and sore steps towards the door, he was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that he failed to noticed Brynjolf coming up behind him until he suddenly found himself being carried damsel style.

A terrible noise escaped his mouth he ended up yanking the hood down in reflex, feeling his face grow hot in response. He felt Brynjolf move while he was hiding in the folds of the cloak, the door getting kicked open and a pleasantly warm and muggy morning air reaching him even through the cloak. He felt some part of heaviness in his lungs ease and his sore throat sooth a bit.

Brynjolf walked with them a bit, and it took him a moment, but the dick was taking the long way back to the guild. Not only that, but he was walked through the market square too! The dick was showing off what he had done! _**What a dick!**_

Eventually they did make it back to the guild, where he squirmed out of the man’s arms and hobbled to where his clothing had to be. They were drying out on ground past all the drunken members that were nursing headaches and hangovers. He figured that he slipped into then quick enough, but when he went to hunt down some food and potions to get himself into working order, there was a smug smiling Vex and Tonilia waiting for him.

“So… Brynjolf eh?” Vex grinned.

“Fuck both of you.” He snapped going up to the counter and digging through his pockets for some spare coins.

“Ah come on, you’ve been calling him by ginger bastard since we’ve met. Why shack up with him now?” Vex grinned.

“Fuck. Off.” He snarled, finding some coins and putting them down on the counter.

“Well, tell us how he was then! Brynjolf doesn’t sleep around that often you know,” Tonilia grinned “So, was he good? Bad? Was that mouth of his any good?”

He tried not to think were the mouth was on him last night. But that was very little to think about then.

“Shut up.” He snapped as he took his order from the tender.

“Tell us!” Vex prodded.

Swiveling around, he faced both of them and felt anger run through his veins like fire. They suddenly looked less smug and more… _terrified_. Probably that whole ‘Dragon’s Soul’ thing making his eyes glow again.

“Put any fucking thought of your head of getting anything out of me. So fuck off-“

Two fingers hooked into his mouth and pulled his mouth open into a fake smile of sorts. While he was fitting to tear into Vex and Tonilia, ginger bastard had come up on his side and stop him from talking by making him don a ‘smile’.

“You’re just grumpy because you’ve got nothing to say against me.” Brynjolf chuckled.

He tried biting the fingers in his mouth, only for ginger bastard to take them out. However, instead of wiping them off on his armor, he casually licked his fingers clean.

“Or, was all that moaning on your part fake? How you kept wanting to go on? How about that final bit this morning?”

Blushing ear to ear, he resisted the urge to punch the man’s lights out, and instead tried to focus on eating instead, hoping that without his reactions that the man would get bored and walk away.

Mistake on his part.

“So? Dirty details Brynjolf.” Vex asked behind his back.

“What? About the kid?”

“Yeah, he won’t tell us anything.” Tonilia teased.

“Oh, probably because he doesn’t have anything bad to say. I had him moaning most of the night and even this morning. He was still pissed off at himself, but I managed to get in an extra round this morning.” Brynjolf bragged.

“Oh you son of a-“ He started, twirling around to hit him only for Brynjolf to act quick as a the slimy snake that he was and grab both his wrists.

He was yanked forward and his arms twisted around and he found his back pressed against Brynjolf’s chest and his arms pinned across his chest. He was effectively pinned and again on his jelly legs.

“Or how the kid likes having his ears and tail teased. Both by the tips if you can believe it.” Brynjolf teased why he went red from head to toe.

“Oh really?” Vex teased.

He let out an inhuman screech that turned into a ‘ _thum_ ’ that shook the Ragged Flagon and had the lot of them backing off. He even got his arms back because of the strange sound that came out of him, which he quickly took a few swings at Brynjolf only to have the ginger bastard laughing and run away.

“Oh, Nameless, I sold all that stolen stuff you had on you,” Tonilia said, handing him a hefty pouch of coin “Minus a small cut for the guild, but enough coin to buy yourself something pretty.”

“Like another night with Brynjolf.” Vex giggled only for him to start swinging at her and make her laugh and flee as well.

“Oh will you lot shut the fuck up!” He roared before storming off.

What the fuck had he done?


	10. Found By Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Slight gore
> 
> He tries to do a new job, only to find himself taken in by more strangers.
> 
> EDIT: 7/21/2015  
> I didn't like how rushed this chapter was and tried to flesh it out a wee bit. I also have no idea where Nev's going with this, but since it's story based with lesser focus on smut (my skill area) I'll be having a hand in it's development from now on.  
> -Edited by Six

He had to go talk to the old cunt, Maven Black-Briar, that thought that she was hot stuff and snipped at the heels of the Thieves Guild like an annoying lap dog that nobles carried around. 

Brynjolf and himself both agreed that it was a terrible fucking idea for him to go alone to do it. He would say something stupid and the woman would skin him alive and use his hide for a piece of clothing that would get dragged through the mud. Brynjolf said that Mercer would probably stop her from doing anything, only to suffer his own wrath later on.

“And I’m sure you know that he’s… _’interested’_ in you,” Brynjolf said, “So you can probably guess what he’ll do to you.”

So Brynjolf was to go with him, kick him if he said something stupid. At least, that was what Mercer ordered. He tried his damndest to throw a fucking tantrum about it, saying that if Brynjolf went that this Briar bitch would scalp his stupid red head alive and make a bag out of his scales, or they would just kill each other. But Mercer was adamant, and no matter how much he argued, the ginger bastard was still supposed to go with him.

Ginger Bastard made the situation worse, somehow.

The man was so insufferably smug about how he got him in bed, smiling that oh so ‘cat got the cream’ smile that he could not look at the man without punching him. He realized for all the bitterness and the anger he threw at the man, that he probably did feel smug that he got him into bed, but he did not need to act like he just got the prudish god of prudishness into bed or something. Dick was just as smug that he really was good in bed and he really did have anything to say against him either too, making it all the worse for him.

He felt the anger roll off of him as he stormed into the tavern that they were meeting Briar at with Brynjolf on his heels. Up the stairs where he was pointed by the Argonian owner, he found the old cunt as she sat at a table, idly sipping something undoubtedly expensive as she looked at a thick, marked up and dog eared book with disinterest. She looked up as he approached, cocking a still disinterested eyebrow at him as she set her glass down and moved the book away from her.

“So… you’re the one. Hmm…” She said as a unique disinterested tone colored her aged voice “You don’t look so impressive. Here I was expecting something… interesting, Brynjolf.”

He felt a vein bulge in his temple as Brynjolf snickered behind him. Baring his sharp teeth at the bitch, he growled out.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries and get right to fucking business, hmm?”

That got some spark of interest in the old woman’s eyes, and a slight smirk on her painted lips.

“You’re a firebrand, aren’t you? It’s about time that you sent me someone with business sense, Brynjolf. I was beginning to think that you ran some sort of beggar’s guild down there.”

He was about to freaking lose it. She dare casually throw _that word_ around? He was about to tear this bitch a new one-!

Brynjolf’s hand found his lower back, putting pressure on the area where his tail began and making him focus on that rather than his anger. He took in a deep breath and tried to relax, realizing that Maven’s eyes were wide and she actually looked slightly… scared of him. His eyes must have been glowing again, bright yellow lights from underneath the shade of his hood. That had to be startling with someone that looked like an Altmer from at least his chin.

Ginger bastard’s fingers worked up and down his spine as he kept breathing in his nose and expelling out his mouth, while he focused on working that sly mouth of his to his advantage.

“No faith in us, Maven?” Brynjolf asked with an upbeat of humor.

“Faith?” Maven scoffed, letting out a short and bitter laugh “I don’t have faith in anyone. All I care about is cause and effect. Did the job get done and was it done correctly. There’s no grey area.”

He found himself focusing on the texture and look of the wooden table, shaking as he suddenly went into a hypersensitive state where everything was too much all at once. Or was it a panic attack? He did not know, he just kept counting the rings and knots in the wood as his mind scrambled to calm down and those fingers along his spine did wonders to his tense body.

“Of course, Maven. And you’ll only get the best from this lad right here, I promise. He’s one of the best thieves we’ve had in ages,” Brynjolf almost purred “Just tell him what to do and he does it perfectly. Right lad?”

He found the mindset to nod.

“Lad’s just a touch nervous and edgy at the moment, so let’s move on with this job. What do you want the lad to do?”

Twenty seven rings and four knots.

“Head to the Bannered Mare in Whiterun and look for Mallus Maccius. He’s fill you in on all the details.” Maven said.

“Hear that lad? Think you can do it?”

Forty five rings and ten knots, he thought idly as he nodded slowly.

“Good, now get going lad!” Brynjolf chuckled as he smacked his ass and snapped him right out of his panic attack.

He brandished his teeth at the man before storming out of the room, leaving Brynjolf and Maven in his dust, feeling his anger reheat as he realized that Brynjolf had not only brought him out of his anger because of how the ginger bastard knew his body and also made him calm down with a smack to the ass as well. When he got back from this job, he would find some fucking way to wipe the smug ass smile off that stupid fucking face.

* * *

“Where does an elf get dragon eyes?” Maven asked him as the kid vanished from sight.

“He’s special Maven, I promise.” He grinned.

“And the fact that you act like you bedded the boy?” Maven snorted.

He grinned wickedly, getting the old girl to let out a barking laugh.

“My, no wonder he looks at you with murder in his eyes. Then again, they say if someone looks at you like that, then it was meant to be.” Maven laughed.

“I don’t know, the kid does make life interesting… I don’t think I would mind actually…”

* * *

Being in Whiterun made him want to be sick to his stomach.

It was the city that Cosnach and himself were going to run away to and live out their lives happy and carefree. It was the city he had daydreams and pleasant dreams about when Cosnach filled his head with happy thoughts. It was the city that he dreamed of dying happy in, rather than rotting away in the Warrens in Markarth.

Whiterun was a happy place for him, and it was rotting away as that too because now he was here to work off a debt that got pinned on him because he defended himself against a no good thief that wanted what gold was stored in the Warrens. He could almost feel the corruption to his dream as he walked nonchalantly through the city, keeping his head down even as he felt the noon sun warm his cold body.

The air was not as humid as his body would like, but the sun and the warmth from it felt amazing even through his thick, leather armor. He almost wished he could have shed his armor and let the sun warm his scales directly. But the guards were already giving him looks for his hood being up during the middle of the day, so he did not want to try. It seemed that being seen as Altmer was bad enough as it was, let alone revealing that he was a freak. 

Maybe this dream of coming here to live happily was not such a good dream after all…

The Bannered Mare was a pleasant enough tavern, he thought idly as he walked in. Better then the shitty tavern in Riften, or the even shittier Ragged Flagon. It did smelled like mead, but at least it did not smell like piss and vomit, instead smelling like sweat and leather from the burly Nords that were drinking there. There was also a slight overtone of dirty dog, but he tried to ignore it for whatever reason.

He looked around for the man that he was told to look for, and could not find him. He thought about going up to the counter, but there were two burly Nords that looked like twin brothers there and he felt slight intimidated by their size and their weird yellow eyes and how the stench of dogs came off of them. Even more so when the one with the slightly longer hair turned to look at him and looked at him without breaking eye contact for several moments before returning to his drink.

Nords hared him because of his seemingly outward Altmer appearance, what with the civil war going on and how anyone that even remotely liked Talos and his worship despised all Altmer because obviously all Altmer were elf supremacist. The thought of approaching any Nord, and ones that smelled like they bred war dogs or something frightened him.

Finally he asked the Redguard bar maid when she wondered away from that counter. The girl did not act like a maid, she stood too tall and proud and her hands looked too soft for having the hard work of a maid. Probably disgraced noble now having to actually work for her coin, but he did not feel like asking her about that, just asked if there was a greasy man by the name of Mallus. She pointed him to the tavern’s kitchen, where past a pig was roasting and making his mouth water, where a man was leaning over a half empty mug of mead.

“Maven said you’re expecting me?” He asked the man.

A pair of blood shot eyes swimming in either thick eye makeup or heavy bags slowly moved to look at him before the man scowled like he tasted something bad.

“I’m going to keep this short ‘cause we’ve got a lot to do,” He drawled out, probably pissed off and angry and drunk all at the same time, “Honnigbrew’s owner, Sabjorn, is about to hold a tasting for the Whiterun’s Captain of the Guard and we’re going to poison the mead.”

“Hey, hey! I’m a thief, not a fucking assassin!” He snapped.

“Not to kill, idiot!” Mallus hissed, shushing him loudly “To make him sick.”

Scowling at the man and feeling his temper try and take over again, he quickly changed the subject.

“Well… where’s this poison then?”

“No, no. That’s the beauty of the whole plan. We’re going to get Sabjorn to give it to us,” Mallus said, looking behind him to see if anyone was listening in on them. When he was happy that there were no prying ears, he looked back to him. “The meadery has quite a pest problem and the whole city knows about it. Pest poison and mead don’t mix well, you know what I mean?”

“…You want me to…what, exactly?” He asked.

“You’re going to happen by and lend poor Sabjorn a helping hand,” Mallus sighed, like he was trying to deal with a slow child “He’s going to give you the poison to use on the pests, but you’re also going to dump it into the brewing vat.”

“… really?” He asked, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! Maven and I spent weeks planning this!”

“Weeks?” He asked.

Turning red, Mallus gave him a weak glare that he must have thought was a lot meaner looking but he casually shrugged off.

“All we need is someone like you to get in there and get it done,” Mallus said while he kept rolling his eyes at the man only to get a punch swung at him “Now get going before Sabjorn grows a brain and hires someone else to do the dirty work!”

Sighing to himself, he left the bitter man to glare daggers at his back. As he walked back into the main part of the tavern, he wondered how much more mad he could make the man and order some of the pig that was roasting on the spit. Poor man would probably cough up blood with his rage. So instead he resolved to stash some of the money made from the job away to buy himself a nice dinner afterwards and tried to walk out the front door.

Tried.

He noticed that the twin Nords were still at the counter. As he passed by, the long haired man turned to look at him and a sort of confusion passed over his face. When he stopped to glare back to get the man off his ass, the long haired of the two wrinkled his nose at him.

“…He does smell like a lizard and an elf.”

He turned on his heels and glared daggers at the two of them.

“The fuck did you say?!”

The shorter haired casually reached over and smacked his twin, sipping from his mug casually while the man rubbed his head.

“You’re earnestness is showing, Farkas. Leave strangers in peace.”

Scowling, suddenly mad again and feeling the eyes of the tavern on him, he turned heel and stormed out the door before his anger did something stupid like shook the walls or made him experience a panic attack again.

Though how the man was able to smell the mixed blood in him made him… curious. But he had no time for other side adventures and misadventures. Maven wanted this done as quickly as possible, and he wanted more time to get money for erasing his debt and getting back to Cosnach.

He had no time.

* * *

He realized that his Argonian blood gave him a resistance to poison, but he still handled the worn out and dirty bottle with care as he quietly snuck by the skeevers that had infested the extensive caverns underneath the meadery. The air was cold but thoroughly moist, and while his body still shivered, it also tingled with amazing vitality as it just ate up the wet air. His eyes focused for once and he easily snuck by the disgusting vermin as he walked further and further into the caverns.

He still had no weapons to his name, though it was probably for the best as he had no idea how to use anything, so the spiders were a bit of a challenge. He had to use some pebbles and distract some of them before bolting across the room and throwing more stones in the opposite direction to keep the dumb bugs distracted from his scaly ass.

Still, for only a few weeks of training he sure was good at sneaking around. Then again, he always practiced at night in Riften, and in a city where everyone expected you to steal their shit the fact that he went unnoticed whenever he set his mind to it was rather impressive. Then again, from what he heard of Argonians, they had natural ability with stealth skills from hunting in their homelands. His pride hated it, but he was slowly but surely learning to ignore it.

Finally he walked through what he had hoped was the last room that would lead to the meadery… only to find out the hard way that it was bobby trapped. Only a few steps in and he stepped on a bear-trap and the damned trap snapped shut on his ankle.

“Son of a bitch!”

He thought he was going to be sick. The pain was nothing like the beatings he got as a beggar, and there was never this much blood. His slippery fingers tried to claw at the bear-trap and pry it open, but his thin strength was nothing against the trap’s steel jaw strength. Then again with this damned pain, he was sure that he had never stepped on a bear trap before, the metal teeth digging into the flesh and blood pooling underneath his ankle.

How was he supposed to do his fucking job now?

“Oh… hello?”

Looking up, he paled at the sight of a deranged and dirty man leaning over him, eyes wide and bloodshot as he looked at him with too much interest. The man’s mouth were full of smiling, gritty and yellow teeth that seemed like they would fall out of his mouth at any moment. He realized that in years of living with people that were the pariah of the city, the druggies, the poor, the mentally ill and the insane, that this man was one of those people that were severally mentally ill. Like the people that tried to revere him as a god or tear open his stomach because of his freakish appearance.

The man licked his lips slowly…

“Get away!” He screeched.

The man quickly stepped out of the way of his punch and instead moved over to the bear trap and pressed his foot down on it. He let out a wail that rocked the cavern walls and vomited to the side as pain shot through his body. More blood pooled underneath his ankle and the skeevers looked oh so interested in the smell and his flesh. His vision went spotty as blood trickled out of him.

The man reached out and yanked down his hood, revealing his face.

“Oh! A pretty monster!”

His nail reached out and sliced at the man, scratching his cheek and nothing more as the man reached out and grabbed a painful fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. Fear rocketed up and down his spine and a cold sweat broke out across his skin. The man leaned forward enough that he could smell the man’s rotting breath.

Rotting skeever meat and blood, old mead and honey, rot and ruin. Something in his stomach started rushing up in response to the panic and stench.

“I shall keep you, pet. Pretty, pretty, pretty.”

That thing rushing upwards hit the back of his teeth and he opened them willingly, hoping that he vomited on the man.

But it was not vomit that came out.

“FUS!”

* * *

Half delirious with fever and his ankle still bleeding, he pulled the cork of the poison bottle out with his teeth and dumped the rest of the poison inside, watching the hazy brown liquid disappear into the soft yellow colored liquid that bubbled in the large metal brewer. Tossing the bottle off to the side and hearing it hit a wall and shatter, he bent down and grabbed the stick he had been using as a crutch and managed to once again conquer the stairs as he made his way to the main part of the meadery.

He was in and out of the consciousness for the tasting. His vision was half black by the time that the bastard was taken away for his poisoned mead and the green faced captain stormed out. He limped outside, wobbled all over the place as the fever from the open wound took over and he started sweating pebbles as his stomach clenched empty and needing something to throw up as his body tried to kill him.

He felt grass and realized that he had fallen and landed in some tall grass. He decided that he did not care anymore and just flipped onto his back and watched the stars before his vision disappeared.

He did not care… if he died…

* * *

He smelled blood on the wind, blood that did not smell right. Like the man from the tavern earlier…

Walking along the grass, he followed the smell of blood as the night wind tried to toss the smell away. Nature seemed intent for him not to find the source of this smell, but his nose was sharp and he was determined to find it. It was so close, if only the wind would stop tossing the smell everywhere…

“Farkas?”

He focused on the smell and heard the tall grass crunch underneath his boots. Just a bit more… where was the smell coming from? He opened his eyes and let the moon power him, let him strengthen him. His eyes pierced the darkness and he realized that there was a dark mass in the grass only a few feet away. He quickly walked over and realized that it was a man in leather armor.

Bending over the person, he realized that the smell of blood was coming from the man’s butchered ankle. When he reached down and brushed his fingers against the almost hidden mouth, he felt breath against his fingers and realized that the man was alive, if just barely.

“He needs help.” He said, bending down a bit more to pull up the surprisingly and worryingly light man into his arms.

As he lifted him off the ground, his hood fell down.

What was he thought was an Altmer, turned out to be something much more… interesting?

Scales along the sides of his neck and cheeks, parted lips that revealed sharp teeth, the man looked like he was a mix between an Altmer and an Argonian.

“What is he?”


	11. New Friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait pups!

He was sick and he knew it, and it was not just any sort of sickness. 

It was like when he got sick at the Jarl’s palace in Markarth. Fever addled his mind and he could feel his sweat soaking the furs he was laying on. His stomach clenched and squirmed and he vomited periodically, making a mess of himself that magically disappeared when his mind went dark and then became semi-aware again. His tail squirmed, moving frantically because it did not have the confines of his pants to hold still anymore. Sometimes his claws found the furs and he felt them actually shred as he clenched them in pain and fear.

He had awful nightmares about dragons hunting him across the face of Skyrim, despite running faster than the wind. He would scream and shout and they would always be on his heels, so close he could feel their heated breath through his boots. They bellowed on and on about how he was their kin, that he was a dragon to his very soul, and that he ought to give up this futile humanity of his and become a true monster. 

He had nightmares of going back to Markarth and finding the rotting and bloated corpses of his friends hidden in the mud, only for them to sink once he laid eyes on them. He clawed relentlessly through the mud to dig them up, only for the mud to just keep trying to see them again. He went on and on, despite his arms feeling like they would fall off at the shoulders and that his friends were getting further and further away from him the longer he tried. 

He had nightmares of becoming a dragon so large that he crushed the world beneath his claws and devoured the stars, suns and moons in the sky. Large at first to crush cities beneath his feet, hearing people scream in terror before becoming bloody smears underneath the sheer size of him. Then he became larger to feel the earth itself give underneath his massive weight. Finally feeling his legs plunged through the earth itself and shatter it as he drifted in darkness and watched the ground float away from him, opening his maw not to cry out or roar in victory, but to suck in the lights in the sky until it was only him and the darkness left.

During one bout of semi-clarity, he recalled punching someone that was touching along his chest and stomach and got punched back. Before he blacked out, he picked up an angry face surrounded by red. Ginger bastard probably found him, had him laid out somewhere in hopes that his sick mind would let the same mistake happen again. Fucker could piss up a rope for all he cared. Then again, ginger bastard did not hit him like the teeth rattling punch he got. Hopefully this ginger did not want to fuck him, at least.

During another, he recalled waking up to him grabbing desperately at his stomach as he dry heaved violently. A gently hand rubbed along his back as he struggled to breathe through the heaves, before eventually knocking away his hands and kneading his stomach until it calmed down enough for him to pass out again.

During another he had his eyes open but could not comprehend anything he was seeing, just that his head was on someone’s thigh and they were petting his hair gently and that he was sobbing hysterically and blubbering something. He guessed it was because the gentle attention was so much like what Cosnach would do for him sometimes that he instantly felt homesick to death.

After what seemed like years of just brief snippets, he finally opened his eyes to find himself laid out on a pile of comfortable furs. He was bare, nothing on him to protect his dignity or stop him from looking at the scales he hated so much along his body. The blues, greens and yellows gleamed low in the light of the single candle illuminating the room, and he felt tempted to claw until he could only see red. It would be such an improvement.

When he twisted around, he found that every joint was terribly sore. Like he had gotten one Oblivion of an ass kicking like he got from the guards sometimes. He wondered if whoever put him in the room did anything to him…

Instantly filled with panic, he reached around himself and underneath the base of his tail to gently prod his fingers along the crack of his arse. Shyly he looked for the little ring of muscle there and gently touched it. It certainly did not feel sore or… _used_ like it had felt after Brynjolf fucked him. So, thankfully, he had not been raped in his sleep. His captors were not that _terrible_ as he had assumed.

He sat up slowly, feeling his stomach twist uncomfortably. Taking a moment for the world to stop spinning and his stomach to ease up some, he looked around the room instead.

It was decent enough sized, almost like his ratty room in the Warrens that he never used. Only this one had counters with things on them, and the bed was piled high with furs and the room smelling faintly of mead rather than sickness and piss. Hell, the room was even warm, even with him buck ass naked.

…Speaking of which, why was he naked?

The door cracked open and the noise startled him and he ended up rolling off the bed and banging his elbows on the ground as he tumbled down to it. Letting out a long whimper of pain, he heard the person enter the room.

“You okay?”

He… remembered that voice. Where did he remember it from?

“Why am I naked?”

His voice sounded like he smoked three times a day for ten years, cracking, brittle, deep and rumble like. It sounded as about as awful as he felt.

“You kept throwing up on yourself, and sweating too much.”

Wait… no… _ **NO**_. It was that long haired man from the tavern hat could smell that he was half Argonian and half Elf. A _fucking_ Nord of all the races helped him. A Nord. A NORD.

He peeked up from behind the bed and looked to see that it was indeed the long haired Nord from the tavern, standing there with his head cocked at him. Pale yellow eyes that looked more feral then human looked at what little of his head that he could see.

“Can I have my clothes back?” He asked.

“You threw up a lot.” The man said simply.

“Can I have _something?_ ” He almost pleaded.

The man went over to one of the dressers and dug around in it for a moment before taking out what looked like a shirt made for a Nord about his own size before tossing it onto the bed. He quickly reached out and took the shirt, fumbling a moment to pull it over his head and trying not to think about how it pulled down a safe length over his hips. Nords were just too fucking big for their own good, and he might have been a bit on the tall side, but it was kind of ridiculous that he man was so big that the material easily hid his shame.

He sat on the bed and looked at the man as he looked at the length of his legs and exposed arms. He glared darkly at the man for ogling, folding up on himself to hide the ugly scales and abomination.

“What are you?” The man asked.

“How about, _who the fucking Oblivion_ are you?” He snarled.

“Farkas.” The man said simply.

He had a feeling that the name actually meant something, rather than just being a name. The more he looked the man over, the more wolf like he seemed. Like a bulky, muscular wolf like man to be sure, but the yellow eyes, the slightly pointed ears and the hair just seemed too wolf like to be normal.

He almost felt at ease then. If this man could be so wolf like, then he could be… whatever he was.

“Ah…I’d share a name… but I technically don’t have one.” He managed, still rather guarded but not nearly as edgy as he was before. He even let his legs collapse to the bed, “People just call me Nameless instead.”

“That’s… not very creative.” Farkas said.

“I know! But ah… I don’t know. I really don’t want to give myself a name and I’m pretty good at telling when people are talking to me.” He said with a roll of his eyes.

There was a pause of amicable silence between them as the man nodded once before motioning towards one of the dressers. In the dim light of the candle, several potion bottles gleamed.

“Those are for you. Figured you could use them.”

“…Thanks.” He said.

He got to his feet surprisingly enough, only feeling his sore knees protest a bit as he walked over to the dresser and grabbed one of the bottles. It took him a moment of fighting with the cork before ripping it out with his teeth and nails before he could get at the potion, and even then there were bits of cork in the mixture that he managed to get his tongue to tuck into the corner of his mouth until he was done with the potion and could spit them out.

“So… what are you?” Farkas asked, sounding… something.

He finished off and spat out the bits of cork before letting the sticky mess fall to the floor.

“…truth be told, I don’t know myself. I was dumped into the arms of the beggars in Markarth and have been with them since. Parents are dead or could give a shit if I’m alive. I’m sure they don’t if they tossed me in Markarth.” He sighed tired like, his oh so tragic back story having lost its biting edge with him years ago.

“You look like an Argonian and Elf fucked.” Farkas said bluntly.

For some reason… he liked the bluntness. The longer he was around this guy, he just seemed to start liking him. Then again, being around cutthroats and pickpockets and people who generally twisted and turned their words until their meanings were obscured, being around someone who just spat out his thoughts without a filter or second thought was just that refreshing.

“Yeah… but then you have to ask, how it worked? Argonians give birth to eggs that later hatch into their squishy offspring, elves give birth to babies. Argonians rely on the sun to make their warmth and elves can do that on their own. Argonians have scales, tails, snouts and nails and elves have those high and sharp features, those green eyes and the pointy ears,” He rattled off and ranted on. “I really don’t know. Plenty of people seem to think that I’m not naturally born, some magic shit show. Then there’s this whole Dragonborn thing…”

“Oh… _you’re_ that guy everyone’s going on about,” Farkas said. “Lost of people whispering about that.”

“Oh really…” He almost laughed before the weight of the words of hit him and the smile dropped off his face “Uh… what are they saying?”

“The Dragonborn is a weird looking elf. They say that you’re turning into a dragon and thus the scales and eyes.”

“…oh…shit.” He muttered, feeling his stomach drop and nail his intestines.

They knew that he was weird… while they did not know the truth… they knew that the Dragonborn was a scaly elf. Sure, if he hid the scaliest part of his face then it would hide his identity. A dirty Altmer with long, dark nails and far too dirty for any well minded Altmer, sure… but not what everyone was talking about.

The Dragonborn slowly becoming a dragon? All those nightmares were really starting to hurt him. He could feel a panic attack swelling up in his stomach. His breathing quickened and he felt his chest tightened right up and he had to grip the dresser for dear life as sweat broke out across his skin.

_shitshitshitshitshitshitshit_

A rough hand found his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades roughly. He buried his face in his hands and focused on breathing as the calloused fingers on his skin, keeping him grounded while his mind fuzzed over and tried to break apart. In and out, he just had to focus on something other than the terror and panic in his chest as pain stabbed through his heart and lungs. He just needed to focus. He just needed to focus. He just needed to focus. FOCUS DAMMIT!

The rough hand moved up along his neck, digging into the taunt tendons even as his tense body rejected the attempt to relax but eventually relaxing enough. When his breathing calmed down enough, those fingers moved up and worked across the bottom of his skull, messaging where his spine began. A rough thumb pressed against the back of his ear and a strange jolt of something that was almost pleasurable shot down his spine.

He really should have been pissed that people seemed to think that when he was having panic attacks that they could just their hands all over him. Even if they knew how to get him all relaxed again, people really should not have put their hands on panicking people. Especially him since he liked to bit fingers and use his claws.

When Farkas pulled his hand away, he found himself relaxed enough to turn and face the big Nord.

“Sorry… believe it or not, I’ve been having nightmares about becoming a dragon. Hearing that just… I don’t know.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Sorry I mentioned it then.”

He almost wanted to laugh at the earnestness of the man’s apology. If he was not careful, he would ask to stay. But he had a debt tacked onto his head, and a friend waiting for him back home. So he needed to get back to the Thieves’ Guild to get started on that work of his.

“So… who do I have to talk too about getting on my way?”

* * *

The lad was gone for almost three weeks. Sure, walking back and forth to Whiterun should have taken a week, but the lad was gone for _three fucking weeks_. When he did show up again, the lad had a splint on his ankle, and he had a rosy glow to his cheeks and a genuine smile on his face.

“What the Oblivion, lad?” He demanded.

“What? I got the job done. Calm your fiery red head, ginger bastard.” The lad retorted as he limped into the Ragged Flagon.

“I know… that was almost two weeks ago, lad. You’ve been gone three.” He pressed.

“So I messed up and had to recover. I got the job done.” The lad snapped as he took a seat and leaned back in the chair like he was extremely tired.

“What happened?” He demanded, slamming his hands down on the table.

The kid glared at him, yellow dragon eyes narrowing in anger.

“I stepped on a bear trap. I got delirious with fever and got some help from Whiterun’s Companions. They took me in and helped me get better.”

“Companions? Those merc bastards?” He demanded.

The Companions were a thorn in the Guild’s side for years. So many people hired them to track down their thieves. So many lives lost because those bastards had the tracking skills of wolves and almost always got the thieves and killed them in the resulting confrontation. He even had a scar from that evil archer of the Companions, damned bitch had an incredibly sharp set of eyes and deadly accuracy.

“Hate to break your heart, but they aren’t bastards. They took my scaly ass from dying in the grass and pulled it out of the fire. None of them event took advantage of my delirious state like a certain _fucking worthless asshole_ I work with.” The lad sneered.

…shit.

“Now, if you don’t mind. Since I seem to be the only one able to pull money in around here in this stupid fucking guild, I’m going to go do a few jobs. You still owe me for that last job, by the way.” The lad snorted.

He got up and started limping over to Delvin with him gaping at the kid’s back and wondering where this backbone came from.


	12. Man's Folly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeee.... my fucking fingers can't type worth shit today, so if they're mistakes... I'll catch them when my fingers realize that they should be fucking typing English

Since his return was… odd, he did not realize that his job was not technically done and he was forced out onto his still throbbing ankle to go finish it. While it meant going back to Whiterun and the Companions, he really could not afford to take a detour to them, as Brynjolf was still holding the payment for his job over his head until it was done. Apparently it was quite a bit of coin, and he wanted the damned debt hanging off him to go away quickly, so he went trekking back to Honningbrew meadery.

It took a few days on foot, because he was being cheap and not using carriages and not stealing horses, but he got back there to an actually worried Mallus. He had wondered where he went afterwards, having wanted to congratulate him only to see him trailing off, looking half dead and bleeding all over his floor. He even pointed out the blood stains that he had left in his dazed state.

He gave him the watered down version. Stepped on a bear trap and was out of it from the rust and pain, and thus wondered off before the job was done. Mallus seemed to accept this, though he could tell from the shifty look in the man’s eyes that he did not believe a word of it, before handing over a note to give to Maven and something called a Honningbrew Decanter for his troubles. He figured he would sell it to one of the fences in the guild for the coin. If nothing else, someone would want the pretty bottle.

He made his way back to Riften and headed for the old cunt Maven with the note. She seemed less then pleased with his disappearing act, and even less pleased with the note that he handed over.

“This doesn’t tell me much. The only thing that could identify Sabjorn’s partner is this odd, little symbol.” She scowled harshly.

“I’ve seen that odd, little symbol before, actually.” He said.

“Well,” Maven snarled out, looking like she wanted to flay someone alive with her bare hands, “Whoever this mysterious marking represents, they’ll regret starting a war with me.”

Folding the paper neatly despite her anger, she thrusted the note back at him and he shoved it into one of his pockets.

“You should take this information to the Thieves Guild immediately.”

He turned to leave, only for Maven to grab his shoulder and turn him right around again.

“There’s also the matter of your payment. I believe you’ll find this more than adequate for your services.”

She reached into her belt and pulled out a dagger gleaming with some enchantment or another. He took it gently in his hand and felt a tingling like electricity across his skin, feeling the hairs on his head prickle a bit. An enchanted dagger… yeah, this was payment enough, he thought.

* * *

Turns out there were two more letters for him, both from Cosnach. He still could hardly read and did not trust anyone to read it to him, so he tucked them away before getting the courier to write out a letter to Cosnach, using the gold he got from the dagger he sold and sending the man on his way with jingling pockets. It took more gold then he would like, but he had a feeling that Cosnach was worried about him if he had gotten two letters in three weeks.

Now that he thought about it, he found himself missing Cosnach something terrible.

He missed the friend that he thought of a brother. He missed the man he leeched warmth off of in the middle of the cold nights. He missed the man he could rant and rave with for hours with. He missed the man who he held his head in his lap so that he could sleep off a hangover in peace. He missed the man that would come rushing to his aid if he could.

He missed his best friend.

He wondered if Cosnach still wanted to go to Whiterun and live in a quaint little house and work an honest job. Cosnach seemed to only truly love the idea when he agreed to go with him. Perhaps… when the debt was paid off… he could whisk Cosnach away from Markarth and too Whiterun. Just like a fable hero, only more twisted in all ways.

If he was not giving almost all his coin to Brynjolf, he would actually have quite a bit of gold on him. So if he could pay off his debt, then he could quickly make the cash to leave the thieves behind and grab Cosnach to have their happy ever after like they wanted. Maybe they could find love one day, maybe they could pick some poor kids off the streets and make them feel loved, and maybe they could die happy and not hungry like they feared.

He just needed to get this debt paid off… he just needed to get this debt paid off…

Then he would be free…

* * *

“Word on the street is that poor Sabjorn has found himself in Whiterun’s prison. How unfortunate for him.”

He barely paid heed to Brynjolf. Too busy admiring the hefty bag of coin that Delvin paid for the Honningbrew trinket he sold the man. More money than he had ever laid eyes on, let alone hands, and he was half tempted to keep it just for that fact alone. But it was a lot of coin… maybe enough to pay off his debt perhaps?

“Yet very fortunate for Maven.” He muttered mostly to himself, weighing the bag in his hand as it jingled delightfully.

“Exactly! Now you’re beginning to see how our little system works,” Brynjolf grinned widely. “Maven sent word that you discovered something else while you were out there. Something important to the Guild?”

“Yeah, that symbol from Goldenglow was involved. Found it on a letter addressed to the meadery owner.”

“Then this is beyond coincidence. First Aringoth and now Sabjorn…” Brynjolf muttered, scratching his chin. “Someone’s trying to take us down by driving a wedge between Maven and the Guild.”

“…Why is the Guild so independent on one woman anyway?” He asked, “Aren’t Guilds supposed to be sponsored by several dozen patrons in case of something like this? Or are you guys going to blame your dry spell on that too?”

Brynjolf looked too stunned for words, so he kept digging into the wounds.

“Not only that, but Maven doesn’t seem all that great of a business woman. I mean her idea to ruin her rival? It took weeks to come up with poisoning the mead. _Weeks_. I think the best thing she’s got going for her is that she was born into money and she’s got an evil look that can scare lesser people. I don’t find her all that scary.”

Brynjolf just kept staring at him like he suddenly had grown a pair of horns to top his freakish appearance off.

“…I’m just going to come out and say it. You’re all piss poor thieves and your patron is a piss poor business woman.”

After a long trail of lingering silence, he got up with his bag of gold.

“Not that I don’t enjoy you actually keeping that flapping mouth of yours shut for once, but I feel like going out and getting some jobs done or something. You know, since _I’m the only one that can make money without complaining about a dry spell_.”

He walked away.

* * *

He was well into his side job when Delvin came up to him and told him to speak to Mercer Frey right away. Ink smudged on his hands and he was sure it was on his face somewhere, he grumbled as he got to his feet and went trekking to the guild master’s desk where he saw the dirty blonde man hunched over his desk and glaring at it like it smacked his kid or something. He had a feeling he would smack his own kids though, as he stood before the man’s desk.

“Ah, there you are.” The man snarled.

“This about the markings?” He asked.

“It would seem that our adversary is attempting to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven Black-Briar. Very clever.”

He held his tongue about the whole patron business. He was sure that Maven would actually hit him as hard as he could for such a comment, and he was actually feeling good today. Only vomited once and had a few spots of higher body temperatures.

“This person is well funded, patient, and have been able to avoid identification for years,” Mercer said, looking down at the papers on his desk as though they had the answer to one of his questions “However, don’t mistake my tone for admiration or complacency. Our nemesis is going to pay dearly.”

“Going to be kind of hard when we don’t even know if they’re a man or a woman or something else entirely yet, Mercer.” He pointed out.

Mercer glared darkly, and he had a feeling that some rather dark thoughts were going through his head that involved his skinned hide and rubbing salt into the open flesh. Or something else since he knew that the man wanted his freskish, scaly ass for some fetish reason. He did not want to think about that one.

“Because…” Mercer snarled out darkly, “Even after all their posturing and planning, they’ve made a mistake.”

Mercer took out a note that looked slightly familiar.

“The parchment you recovered mentions a ‘Gajul-Lei’. According to my sources, that’s an old alias used by one of our contacts. His real name is Gulum-Ei. Slimy bastard.” Mercer grumbled.

“Alright, I’ll go talk to him. Where is he?” He sighed.

“Gulum-Ei is our inside man at the East Empire Company in Solitude. I’m betting he acted as a go-between for the sale of Goldenglow Estate and that he can finger our buyer.”

He had to hold back laughter for that one.

“Get out there, shake him down and see what you come up with. Talk to Brynjolf before you leace if you have any questions.”

Nodding once, he started heading out, fully on planning to leave straight away with only making a detour to tell Tonilia about leaving early so that she could pick up what he started. Honestly he just wanted to go out exploring on his own again, maybe find ways to make coin along the way and see if he could make the coin to erase his debt when he returned.

Not terribly possible, sure, but something that could keep his bitter mind busy none the less. However, his idle thoughts were interrupted when he almost smacked into Brynjolf. Apparently the ginger bastard was looking for him.

“So… Gulum-Ei… I can’t believe that he’s mixed up in all of this. That Argonian couldn’t find his tail with both of his hands. Don’t get me wrong, he could scam a be…” Brynjolf suddenly coughed, covering up the word he knew that bastard was going to say next “Miser out of his last septum, but he’s no mastermind.”

“…I hate you so fucking much right now, but will this bastard give me trouble?” He grumbled.

“Trouble? He’s one of the most stubborn lizards I’ve ever met! Well… one of them. You’re giving him a good run for his money, lad,” Brynjolf grinned. “So, you’ll have your work cut out for you.”

“Oh, I’m so going to fucking kill you when I have the chance.” He growled out before storming away.

* * *

He had only ever talked to a handful of Argonians before.

When he was a naïve child once, he revealed his mixed blood to a few of them. They called him names like the humans had, told him he was not enough of an Argonian to be calling himself one, and called his parents everything underneath the sun for bedding an Altmer and making an abomination like him. So he hated Argonians just as much as he hated the humans in his life.

He considered revealing his mixed blood to the Argonian for a moment as he walked into Solitude’s tavern where the lizard was, but then remembered how he was ‘not Argonian enough to be called that’ and decided against it.

Gulum-Ei was a dark green color, with impressive horns that curled back away from his head. His eyes were quick and clever, and his dark nails curved and sharpened into terrifying points.

“So, what do we have here? Hmm, let me guess… by your scent, I’d say you were from the Guild.” Gulum-Ei grinned, baring sharp and pointed teeth.

He knew having a base right in the sewers would make him smell bad, but he had a feeling the man was more referring to his armor.

“But that can’t be true, because I told Mercer I wouldn’t deal with them anymore.” The man hummed out, nodding his head like he was agreeing with what he just said.

“I’m not here about dealing in anything. I just want to know about Goldenglow estate.” He sighed.

“I don’t deal in land or property. Now, if you’re looking for goods, you’ve come to the right person. I just got shipment of nice imported ale…”

“You can drop the act now Gajul-Lei.” He sighed.

That got a reaction. The man dropped the cool act and actually looked rather frightened for once. His already bulging eyes got bigger and his nostrils flared. He could see the man’s throat tighten as he swallowed thickly.

“O-o-h, wait… did you say Goldenglow estate? My apologies…I-I’m sorry to say that I know very little about that…ah, bee farm, was it?” The man stuttered out.

“Oh drop the fucking act. You acted as a broker for its new owner.” He snapped.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. I can’t be expected to remember every deal I handle.”

Bracing himself, he grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and yanked him out of his seat and yanked him forward enough that the end of the man’s nose smashed against his chin. He got the man real close, enough to see his vivid and disturbing yellow dragon eyes and snarled out in a deep rumble of a voice.

“Care to repeat that, I didn’t catch that.”

No one was coming to his aid. No one wanted to see what the humanoid figure was doing with the Argonian. It seemed that even in the huge, thriving city, that there were still racist bastards that could care less what happened to non-human residents. Even if they knew that he was non-human as they came, they would still not care.

No one cared what happened to a Beast.

“I-I’ll tell you what I know!” Gulum-Ei spat out, scared like.

He dropped the man back in his seat, taking in deep breaths.

“I-I was approached by a woman who wanted me to act as the broker for something big. She flashed a bag of gold in my face and said all I had to do was pay Aringoth for the estate. I brought him the coin and walked away with her copy of the deed.” He said quietly, still quite frightened.

“Did she say why she was doing this?” He asked with an angry edge to his voice to keep the man talking.

“Not at all. I tend not to ask too many questions when I’m on the job. I’m sure you understand,” Gulum-Ei said “However, I did notice that she was quite angry, and it was being directed at Mercer Frey.”

 

“Why not? He’s a prick and vile human being. But you didn’t get a name or anything?” He pressed.

“In this business we rarely deal in names. Our identity comes from how much coin we carry.”

In that case he really was Nameless then.

“I think you’re lying.” He growled.

“L-Look, that’s all I know. I never promised you I’d have all the answers. Now, since our transaction is done, I’ll be on my way.”

* * *

Of course he followed the bastard. He was hiding something, that much was for sure, but he could only get so aggressive before violence broke out. The guards would skin them both since they were not humans. He liked his skin where it was, so he instead followed the man as he made his way outside to the bitterly cold and dry air.

He would need to get this mission done fast, else his poor health would break. He could already feel his body heating up in response to the cold.

Get the job done quickly and get his scaly out of here before he keeled over on himself.

* * *

Cosnach peered closely at the letter that his nameless friend had sent him.

Nameless said how he was doing fine. Being a thief was still hard on his mind, but his health was improving since Riften was warm and humid and apparently good for his body. He also told him how he hated everyone he worked with and missed him something terrible.

With the letter was a good chunk of coin that he balked at before tucking the letter away in the box he kept his things in, in the new house. He heard someone making something in the kitchen as he pulled out the long braid of dirty blonde hair that could have only come from Nameless’ friend. He petted the wiry hair and thought of the numerous times that he had stroked his friend’s hair when he was sick or after he had had a nightmare and needed soothing.

He could only imagine what was happening with his friend now. Probably being sick somewhere, hating his new job with a passion with his huge ego and pride.

How he wished he could have helped him out…

Sighing out his nose, he took the coin and went to add it to the community chest with the growing pile. Since his job picked up, and since they all got into the house, three more beggars got decent paying manual labor jobs, and they had steady income and could soon be productive members of society. Really, he was just making sure that they were not blowing all their money on useless things. Just the necessities until they were more than comfortable.

Or really… until they no longer leaned on him. Because when that time came… he was going to go meet his friend wherever he was…


	13. Meet You In the Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Suicidal thoughts, depression, talks of suicidal actions and past behavior, self hatred/loathing.
> 
> Can't forget this because I started the rewrite of Silver Dovah and i'M SO FUCKING PUMPPPPEEDDD AND WILL LATER ON

“YOU FREAK!”

“Yeah, you can blame one of your fucking people for me.” He spat, getting blood on the writhing Argonian’s head.

He had trailed after the slimy bastard like he had planned, and done well to avoid confrontation while stuffing his pockets with everything valuable that he could find that was not nailed down. He was actually doing so well that he started to worry about fucking up, because his luck was shit and there was no way that he was actually doing good.

That was when Gulum-Ei stumbled and tripped and he hissed out a curse that was heard as he struggled to backpedalled and get back into the shadows. Long story short, Gulum-Ei turned and found him and immediately attacked him and he attacked right back. 

The resulting fight lasted only about five minutes, because he knew how to fight off lesser armored guards and as it turned out thief training was good for moving, and his hood ended up getting pulled off in the scuffle. Gulum-Ei had been so shocked at the sight of his face that he got the man pinned to the ground with an expert catching of his foot and then transference of momentum.

“Why would one of my people stoop so low as to fuck a stuck up Altmer!?” Gulum-Ei snarled.

“I don’t know.” He snapped back.

Gulum-Ei thrashed, not yet done with his raving.

“And how is it even possible?! We’re different in almost every way! Their blood is warm and ours is cold. We have scales and they have skin. Our ears are on the inside of our heads and theirs are these useless, pointed pieces of skin and cartilage. HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

The cave walls shook violently around them. Gulum-Ei swallowed thickly, looking around fearful, almost like he was waiting for a cave-in to happen.

Grabbing the man by one of his horns, he slammed his head down against the ground, scraping his snout in the process and breaking open scales to red, agitated marks that started to dribble blood.

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know! They left me to die in Markarth! They haven’t given me word that they even live! They obviously took one look at my ugly, misshapen ass and didn’t want it anymore! I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M ALIVE!”

It was out there now. He always knew that his parents did not pass him off into the arms of the beggars to give him a chance at life. They did it because Markarth was infamous for killing poor children on the street, their little bones laying in broken chips brushed off to the side of streets and walkways, or visible when the water was clear running from the blacksmith’s forge. They had wanted him to die and hoped that his little body would never be discovered. They wanted the abomination that was his life to be a secret to be consumed by the city of blood and silver.

But he did not. He lived. Then the world started in on him…sickness, disease, starvation, dehydration, beatings from the guards, depression, suicidal thoughts. He almost killed himself several times just to end it all. Escape the pain of his terrible body, of his terrible life, to fulfill the wishes that his parents obviously wanted. End it all because he could not handle any of it.

But he did not. Too stubborn and too prideful, ever so hopeful that it would get better if he just waited. Hoping that his parents were really out there looking for him to help him out. That the people that had birthed him did not want him to rot away in Markarth because of who they were and what that made him.

Pride was a façade, a disguise, to hide the child in him that never stopped hoping that his parents would come for him one day. Bitter anger and resentment to hide that he was so scared of death that seemed always to be at the corner of his eyes, to hide the fact that he wished with all of his heart that his skin would magically decide to be either Argonian or Altmer and that the hideous blemish that was him would finally fade away with all the blackness in his stomach.

He had no idea why he was alive.

He had no idea why he was still alive.

* * *

The kid was absolutely drunk off his fucking rocker. He was tripping and falling over himself in the Ragged Flagon without any sort of shirt or anything, so that the pretty scales decorating his back and shoulders, the ridged scales along his arms, the dark grey talons, the spines were all out there for anyone to see.

People stared as he circled the tables one more time, grumbling to himself as he drank down something from a dirty bottle. As he took too sharp of a turn around a table, the things on the table were sent to the floor and it took several moments for everyone to realize that his tail was out as well, bouncing around behind him. It seemed that the kid had been working on making it useful, because now it looked a lot like an Argonian tail with spines and all.

Vex tried to grab him, but the kid did this wild flailing thing and ended up behind her with her bottle of wine snatched from her hand. When she tried to steal it back, he had undid two of the straps to her armor and she ended up more focused on getting her chest piece done back up then the fact that the kid was out doing her at hand work.

Eventually he was called to get the kid under control before someone took advantage of him. He could already see Mercer lurking, just waiting for the kid to be left alone. He ended up coming up behind the kid and quickly bodily tackling him and carting him off screaming and hollering to the community beds. He heard the kid’s drink getting dumped on the floor as the kid struggled to comprehend what way was up and what was down. The kid’s tail came curling up and thacked him on the ear, but he got the kid to a bed and sitting right.

“Now you just stay there, lad. I’ll go get you a shirt.” He said.

He tried to leave only to have a grey taloned hand grab his wrist and pull him back. When he looked back, the kid’s alcohol flushed face was on the floor.

“You think I’m ugly?” The kid asked bluntly.

“No.” He said.

Truthfully, at worst the kid was odd. He was just different since no one had ever made an half Argonian half anything kid before. But the kid, especially since he had been putting on weight, had the good, high and sharp angular features of his Altmer parents, as well as the tall and lean form too that was getting the highly attractive lean muscle of a thief. The fact that the kid had scales, talons, a tail and scary yellow dragon eyes hardly seemed to bother anyone, let alone him.

“I am though… even my parents hoped I’d have died.” The kid muttered.

“You don’t know that.” He tried pointing out.

“Two.” The kid said.

“Two?”

“Two out of twenty kids on Markarth’s streets make it to their sixteenth birthday. The rest die from starvation, disease, sickness, beatings and or torture from the guards, or killed by other beggars over scraps. The other kid that made it to sixteen with me? Murdered. Pushed into the blacksmith’s forge and her bones left to cook there to this day. Probably raped by guards before it happened too.” The kid explained like he was talking with a slow witted child.

Shit, the kid was not talking about his physical appearance. He was talking about his life. He was getting deep and personal like he had been avoiding for all this time.

“You need sleep.” He said quietly.

“Why am I alive? My parents wanted me dead. Does that mean they did horrible things to make me live? Am I the result of a magical shit show? Or am I something pulled from the realm of Daedra? Or are the rumors true and I’m really some really fucked up dragon thing and being Dragonborn is making it worse?” The kid muttered, “Why am I alive?”

He sat down next to the kid, reaching a hand out hesitantly, and then resting his hand between the kid’s shoulder-blades where the scales were thickest. They felt like actual Argonian scales, if not oddly smoother to the touch. They felt incredibly cold too, and he wondered why the kid was not sick. He rubbed along the kid’s spine, feeling the spines there underneath his fingers as he tried to sooth some part of the brat.

“Sorry lad… I don’t have the answer for that one.” He muttered, feeling bad.

What the kid was going through… he needed a friend. But all his damned friends were in Markarth. He avoided getting close with anyone because he hated that he was being kept there. If the kid knew it was all a lie… shit… the kid would really be close to slitting wrists then. This was a delicate solution that he would need to carefully talk his way out of.

The kid flopped against him, nothing but skinny and bitterly cold weight. The kid really was going to die if he did not get warmed up some time soon. He took a moment to grab the blanket on the bed and make an attempt to wrap it around the kid to get him warmed up before he ended up dying or something. 

But as he tried, one of the kid’s hands grabbed his wrist and instead crawled into his lap. He looked up at the drunken brat into his lap, those fuzzed over dragon eyes looking down at him underneath pale blonde eyelashes as the kid slowly licked his lips. He leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, the kid’s cold forehead against his warm one. The kid’s breath smelled like ale and he kind of wanted to be sick since he was blasting it in his face, but he did not want to push the kid away for some reason.

“This is odd for you, kid.” He said quietly.

“Hey… you ginger fucker…” The kid said, licking his lips awkwardly.

“Yeah, kid?” He asked, getting sick of the ale breath on his face.

“Fuck me.”

He actually laughed at that, only for the kid’s scaly hands to grab the sides of his face, talons digging dangerously into the sides of his face. He quickly grabbed the kid’s hands and uncurled the kid’s fingers so that his skin was no longer in danger of being ripped into.

“Kid, you’re acting strange.” He chuckled lightly.

“No…no…not acting strange… no one’s wanted to touch me since I was young. Not even _that_ way.” The kid said, those talon tipped fingers wriggling out of his grip. He felt the tips of those deadly, deadly talons scrap across his scalp as the kid ran his fingers through his hair.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Too freakish… too odd… too strange…” The kid wobbled on his lap dangerously and he had to quickly wrap his arms around the kid’s torso and bring him in close. Hopefully he would leech some warmth off of him, because he was getting increasingly worried about the kid not being sick despite being almost freezing to the touch.

“Only Cosnach was brave enough, and he only let me leech warmth off of him at night. Years I wanted him to want me but… he loves me but he’s not in love with me?” The kid tried to explain.

He stroked his hands along the kid’s side at a desperate attempt to get some warmth in his skin. The kid shuddered and he had a feeling that he needed to stop, but no one said that he could not have fun being responsible for a change.

“You came along and you are so overly familiar with me… I hate it and love it…” The kid drawled out, looking like he was about to nod off. Pale blonde eyelashes drooped over yellow dragon eyes that seemed so much more then yellow, especially so close. They had little flecks of gold and red in them too… perhaps much more than before? He could have sworn that the kid’s eyes were a flat yellow before.

“I just hate that you’re so fucking smug about everything. Sure. You banged me three ways to Sundas, but you really don’t need to brag about it, you ginger fuck. You’re an adult, not a fucking three year old.”

He just smiled up at the kid, knowing that the alcohol was finally getting to him and he would pass out anytime soon. But he was breaking through to the kid and he felt… giddy? The kid was just so damned interesting and everything had been so heart breaking and soul crushingly boring lately that he had latched onto the kid like a beacon. Falling slowly into darkness because he knew that the guild was failing, he had latched on and now he was becoming addicted to the kid’s loud and honest personality and oh so mysterious aura.

“So… if I was not so smug about everything, would you be nicer to me?” He asked sweetly.

The kid shrugged and his head fell forward until that ale breath was thankfully out of his face. The kid’s taloned hands went to his back and he heard the sharp things digging into the leather.

“Yeah. Sure.” The kid said slow and low, like he was half asleep.

“I’ll try my hardest, lad.” He chuckled, stroking the kid’s hair.

“…fuck me.” The kid whined.

“Nah, you’re drunk. You’ll get mad at me later for it anyway. Tell you what though. You still remember this tomorrow and still want you, I’ll bang you four ways to Sundas.” He purred into the kid’s pointed ear.

The kid did not answer, so he only assumed that the kid had finally passed out. It was only confirmed when he tried to move the kid and he was completely and utterly limp, dead weight. Chuckling to himself, he lifted the kid up into his arms and put him into the bed that he had tried to get him to lay down earlier. The kid’s eyes were shut, not moving at all underneath his golden eyelids.

He thought a moment about what all the kid said and only sighed.

This was like a really bad story that kids listened before bed time.

Stripping out of his armor, he crawled into bed right behind the kid and wrapped his arms around the thin torso, pressing his face into the back of the kid’s neck, feeling the smooth Argonian scales rub against his face. He smelled the ale very faintly, thankfully, but mostly he smelled something that smelled like moss, warm water and humidity. Smelled like the Argonian homeland. Made him wonder about Nameless’ Argonian parent for a moment before he got comfortable and just snuggled into the back of the kid’s neck.

* * *

The kid was dying, as he had almost feared. They had to get a healer down to where the kid was bedridden and use a couple different healing spells on him before he was no longer in danger of dying on them. Even then, they had to continuously feed him Cure Disease potions to keep his fever down, the coughing down, the puking blood down, and the sneezing.

The kid looked like he felt dying. All bloodshot eyes, red nose and wheezing and coughing like a dying man. He curled himself tightly into a ball made of several pilfered blankets and his own scrawny hide. Sometimes it was just his scrawny hide on the bed, sweating up a fierce storm and looking more like rose gold than anything else. Sometimes the kid whined and cried into a pillow as they _heard_ his stomach trying to destroy his other organs.

The kid let him feed him potions, scrub the sweat from his cheeks and repile the blankets atop of him when he got cold again.

It seemed the kid remembered at least parts of pouring his heart out to him, and he was remembering not to be so smug with the kid so that seemed to immediately improve the kid’s opinion of him. At the very least, the kid was using Brynjolf more than any variation of his favorite Ginger nickname, because that was getting _really fucking annoying_.

He decided to ask the kid about it about three days after that night, just as the kid was trying to force some stew down his gullet. In between labored bites, he finally asked.

“You remember anything, lad?”

“From the other night, you mean?” The kid asked, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah.” The conversation immediately started feeling far more awkward and tense then it should have, but he wanted to know.

“Bits and pieces… enough anyway. I told you a lot more shit then I should have, dumped a lot of personal shit on you. You promised not to be so fucking smug anymore, and… I think I tried to get you into bed again but you weren’t a bastard this time around.” The kid rattled off before stabbing a chunk of beef and shoving it into the death trap that was his mouth with all his sharp, Argonian teeth.

“That’s pretty much everything.” He said, finding himself smiling for no reason.

“Yeah… so?”

“…It’s nothing, lad. Just glad we can act like proper, civilized cutthroats and pickpockets instead of nitpicking and fighting cutthroats and pickpockets.” He chuckled.

“You’re an ass!” The kid laughed with half chewed beef still in his mouth.

The smile was something nice to see… he would try and get to see it more often.


	14. Divergence-(minor smut)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: M!Dragonborn/Brynjolf. Minor m/m smut. Handjobs, ear teasing.
> 
> Let us diverge from one path for a bit, shall we?
> 
> (Six wrote this up on their way out of state!)

He was up and waking in a few days, though he still broke out in cold sweats, still coughed up bloody phlegm, and periodically vomited, he said that he would take a few days before reporting to a mysteriously missing Mercer.

The man was just gone. Brynjolf said that Mercer did it sometimes, disappearing off the face of the planet on some errand or another and coming back in a bad mood and with only a few trinkets. Mercer was probably working his ass off to get the few things for the guild with their patron almost actively trying to spite them for some reason. He honestly did not care if the bastard was off and about, Mercer was too damned creepy for his taste. Not to mention it was repeatedly told to him that Mercer was both abusive and interested in him sexually, so the further he was away from him then the better quite honestly.

In the meantime however, he also tried to ignore the ginger bastard as much as he could without the prick pouting on him. Not that he was not enjoying the man pulling back greatly on his teasing and smugness, but it seemed like they were getting too close too soon. The man just helped himself to being the warmth that he needed to leech off at night, pressed so flush against him that he could not help but think about the more intimate time he spent with the man the one time.

The more he thought about it… well the more he was curious if he could have more. He had a feeling that with the plethora of personal luggage that he threw at the man, the fact that he craved physical attention of any manner came out at one point. Ever since he was a child, the people that seemed to want to touch him where the people that beat him savagely, the people that would shove him out of the way of the things that they wanted, Cosnach to keep him warm at night with a few people attempting to grab him because they thought he was a pretty Altmer only to be horrified by what he was.

He was deprived of any sort of physical attention without some negativity coming attached unless it was from Cosnach. But even then, it was not something that he _craved_. He wanted physical attention to feel good, he wanted some part of him to feel loved as he was touched, he wanted someone to look past his hideous looks and mixed race blood and appearance and just touch him for once. But everyone was too horrified or wanted him in horrible ways like Mercer did.

While he admitted that Brynjolf did take advantage of his clouded judgment, he wanted some kind of attention like that. Physical contact that felt _damned good_ and happened regardless of his damned skin. Brynjolf touched him despite his scaly and elf like skin and kept touching him regardless. Without the smugness of the man curling up with him at night, clamping his shoulder as he laughed at something, the playfully swatting his waving tail away from his hand if it got too close, grabbing his thigh with a mischievous grin and squeezing pleasantly, it was too much like the physical contact that he wanted for years and years.

He knew that if he just went with it, he would probably jump into the bastard’s bed again… probably repeatedly… and quite honestly he was not sure if that was what he wanted… truly. Contact he was wanted yes, but he also craved some form of emotional closeness as well. Brynjolf would eventually grow tired of him and move onto someone more interesting and he would be left with whoever would be able to look past his skin again, though he doubted that there were few that would do it the same way that Brynjolf did it.

He would be left alone again…

No. He would not be left alone again. He would keep things the way that they were until he was free to go home to his friend and they could move to Whiterun. He had been sending Cosnach a bit of money, and he was almost ready to send his own first written letter too! Just… keep things stagnant until then… right…?

* * *

Wrong.

He woke up early one morning after a rather vivid dream.

Not a nightmare but so, so much worse. In the dream he was going at it like rabbits with ginger bastard, the details hazy but the dream like memory of the feeling of pleasure still present and he found himself waking up with a terrible _want_ in his lower belly for the man pressed against his back. Tempting to pinch his hard prick in his sleeping trousers, he also wondered how deeply asleep that Brynjolf was that maybe he could sneak away to take care of himself if he needed too.

He squirmed in Brynjolf’s grasp, trying to get free and only encouraging the man to tighten his grip on him until he was trapped completely. His strength was still watery thin compared to Brynjolf, who was still a fucking Nord and therefore naturally muscular, and he ended up almost crushed against the man. His hips wriggled as panic took over a firm rocking of Brynjolf’s hips against his arse almost made him lose his mind.

If he was not let go, he was going to end up doing something stupid again…

“Brynjolf,” He hissed low, hoping to wake the man “I need to get up…”

“Hmm… why?” Brynjolf purred, off course awake.

“I’m gonna piss on you if you don’t?” He tried, hoping that it was a good enough excuse.

“You never need to piss during the night,” Brynjolf chuckled low.

Shit, he was right.

“Come on… please,” He begged.

There was a long silence that he had a feeling that Brynjolf put two and two together and was slowly figuring out why he was trying so hard to get away. But he really hoped that Brynjolf would let him go and be a nice guy for once instead of being the prick that he usually was.

No such luck…

Brynjolf twisted him around in his grip slowly, sliding him around until Brynjolf could slid one hand underneath his shirt. He sucked in a harsh gasp as the soft skin along his belly was rubbed softly, the scrap of those calloused fingers doing something to the butterflies underneath the trembling skin. A clever mouth pressed several soft kisses along the back of his neck, moving upwards slowly until they found his earlobe. Brynjolf softly bit his earlobe, licking the mark his teeth left and moving up to sweep his tongue along the shell and pressing a wet kiss to the back of it.

If he kissed the tip then he would let out a sound-

The hand on his stomach moved up suddenly, brushing up along his chest and reappearing out the collar of his shirt. Two fingertips pressed against his mouth before pressing in and stuffing his mouth in time for Brynjolf to lick the tip of his ear. The moan that would have tumbled out of his mouth was muffled by the man’s fingers, letting Brynjolf lick and nibble on the tips of his ears freely. The fingers in his mouth tasted faintly of sweat, grime, oil and leather, but he found himself savoring the taste on his tongue regardless as the man tormented his sensitive ears.

With his noises muffled, his wriggled his hips, cock jerking in his pants from the need of stimulation. He had already been aroused from the dream before, and now that the man was touching him and his ears were getting tormented, his arousal was rising to a fevered pitch that was almost painful point. Within the confines of his pants, his untouched cock jerked with each slow lick up the length of his ear and each time the man’s tongue circled the sensitive tip. He actually thought he was going to jizz his pants if Brynjolf kept teasing him. His thighs started to rub together in a vain attempt to push himself over the edge.

Brynjolf’s legs twisted in his own, caging his frantic movement further as the man’s free hand pattered along his waistband. It was the only warning he got before the man’s disappeared into his trousers and grabbed his scrotum. He let out a muffled shout as his prick twitched, so close to the edge but the bastard tormenting him at the edge, holding him there as the man got his own sadistic pleasure out of the teasing.

The hand on his balls fondled them firmly, rubbing them, weighing them on his fingers and generally avoiding his twitching prick as he panted around the man’s fingers and writhed in the cage that Brynjolf’s body formed around him. Trapped but his lust fuzzy mind was too gone to really care. Just that he was so close, almost tipping over the edge, but kept there as Brynjolf teased him.

Gods damnned bastard…

The fingers in his mouth suddenly pulled out, slick with his saliva, so that Brynjolf could grab his jaw and force his head to the side that he could see the smug bastard, smiling at him.

“Y-you said,” He panted.

“I’m not being smug though,” Brynjolf purred quietly.

Then those lips were on his, silencing him as the hand on his balls switched to the hand still covered in his drool, grabbing his aching prick and giving it a rough stroke that had his moaning into the clever mouth pressed against his. It was slightly rough, but it was still the stimulation that he needed, and it took only one more stroke before he was mewling into the bastard’s mouth as he spent himself all over his fingers.

While his skin tingled, he panted against Brynjolf’s smiling mouth, vaguely watching the man lift up his dirtied hand out of his trousers and idly wiped it off on the side of the bed. When the mess had been properly cleaned off, Brynjolf righted his clothing before curling his arms around his waist and pulling him that much closer to him.

“Night lad,” Brynjolf grinned before nuzzling against the back of his neck.

* * *

 

He was more than a little confused, but did not really want to find out why the man had pleasured him with no thought of his own pleasure. Not to mention… the bastard had a point. He was not in fact being smug about it… perhaps cocky and overconfident in himself, but smug was probably the wrong term to use. Plus, a smug man would not give out a handjob without some cutting words or the like…

Perhaps Brynjolf was just trying to confuse him.

It seemed to be his new favorite pastime.

When he woke up, Brynjolf kissed him full on the mouth and rumbled out a ‘Good morning’ to him in such a delightful rough baritone that his stomach did a flip. Then he was moving away to get dressed in his armor and leaving him to hide his face in his pillow and blame his blush on a new onslaught of fever. Bastard was just playing with his damned head that was what he was doing, it had to be…

During the day, Brynjolf dropped by as an actual fever ravaged his head and body. Everything was kind of fuzzy, but he felt fingers along his face and neck and then felt his shirt getting pulled off his head. The man wiped him down and sat with him as he continued to sweat in his trousers, trying to ignore him and only becoming more acutely aware of him as time passed. When his mind started to black out, the man dripped some potion into his mouth and curled up against his back as he finally passed out.

He got woken up the same way as the day before, however, he found the strength to actually move about and walked around a bit to try and get blood flowing and get his shit immune system back up. A couple of potions and he found himself in the Ragged Flagon, sitting at the counter why he watched the bartender try to mix a potion with a drink and not make a disgusting mess.

He watched another ale separate and part into gooey layers when Sapphire came up to him.

“Nameless, I know you just got up and about, but I need your help,” She sighed, sounding so tired and exhausted.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, not used to seeing the confident woman seem so… worried.

“We’ve got an issue in the lower sewer systems. Thalmor agents, do you know of them?”

“Those Altmer that think they’re so fucking perfect because they’re elves?” He snorted.

“Yeah, some of our people have seen them roaming the lower systems as though they were looking for something,” Sapphire said, a scheme brewing in her pretty blue eyes “So we’re going to… _help_ them end their search.”

“I’m not an assassin,” He snapped.

“I know, but sometimes, in our line of work, shit gets bloody and you get a little red on your hands,” Sapphire said, almost sadly “Like now. We can’t have those pointy eared freaks walking around so close to our base.”

“Hey, I’m half of those pointy eared freaks,”

“Yeah, but you’re out cute, pointy eared freak, plus your useful and you’re not an asshole,” Sapphire snorted “Besides that? They find out about you, Nameless? Half of their kin when they’re so Altmer supremacist? They’ll fucking skin your pretty hide, my friend. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather keep it on your cute, scrawny ass.”

“..Fair point… I do too… but I don’t know how to fight,” He pointed out.

“Ah, but that’s why I’m asking you to help me out,” Sapphire grinned wickedly “I’m going to be doing the fighting, you’re going to be helping me even out the odds in a different sort of way.”

* * *

His stomach sloshed dangerously with how many potions Sapphire had shoved down his throat, as he ran through the rat ways. Occasionally he would stop and use his odd Dragonborn powers, ‘shouting’ at the walls and running around again, listening to the elves run after him as they tried to track down the source of the noise. Sometimes he caught glimpses of Sapphire as she cut down an Altmer and dragged the body away, keeping the elves sufficiently confused and their numbers slowly thinning.

A simple plan. He was bait, to run around and keep the elves scattered as he scared them by making the walls rattle with his mighty voice. Sometimes he could blend in with the shadows and hide to catch his breath and ignore the blood trickling from his torn up throat. He had half a dozen potions for that, and used them sparingly in case it took Sapphire that much longer to kill off the elves then she had predicted. It certainly seemed like she was taking her sweet time, or there were just that many elves.

Regardless, he ran, shouted, and she stabbed and hid bodies until the crowd thinned down to only a few elves remaining.

Sapphire got two for the price of one, leaving one man left. He stood behind a pillar and dripped potion into his torn up throat, trying to quietly catch his breath as he listened to the frighten elf run around in circles, calling out his friends and looking everywhere for anyone or anything. It seemed cruel that they were basically torturing this man at this point, but was too tired to really care.

He listened to the man walking down the hallway that he was hiding in, quietly sipping his potion as he waited for the man to walk past him before maybe taking him out himself. He could almost make out Sapphire’s footsteps from the other way, so maybe he would leave the man to basically walk into his fate. Regardless, they were almost done and he was almost looking forward to curling up against Brynjolf for the night.

He finished off the potion, tipping it back to get the last few drops, lowering it to put it back into his bag. However, the edge of the bottle hit the rim of his bag and went tumbling across the ground. He could not even silently curse himself before the Altmer was seeming before him, grabbing at his throat and the other hand charging with lightning.

There was a scuffle. He tried so hard to get the man’s hand out of his face and the hand off his throat. He had a dagger on his belt to use in case things went south. He almost had it when the bastard tore off his hood and he stood there blinking at the man that was suddenly staring wide eyed in horror at him.

“Y-you…” The man gaped.

“Let go, asshole!” He spat, still struggling.

“You… but… they said you died in the womb…”

That got his attention.

“What?” He demanded.

“You were… but they said that you died… a failure like everything else before you. I-I wondered why they were so secretative about it… the trip to Skyrim… you-“

Blood licked his face as Sapphire’s blade cut right through the man’s neck. He gurgled on his last words and then fell to the ground to clutch his throat as blood seeped between his fingers. Sapphire looked to him, mouth open.

“I-I didn’t mean… well I did… but he started talking and I was already swinging…” She gaped.

“…It’s fine. He was probably just spouting some bullshit so he didn’t die,” He gruffed “Come on, let’s go home.”

Truth be told, he was dying to know what the man was going to say and hated that Sapphire acted before thinking. But… he did not care. It sounded like the man was just confirming that he was a fucked up experiment from some fucked up people. An experiment that was supposed to be covered up apparently, told that he was dead before ever leaving the womb.

If he could ever hate his parents more, he managed it right there and then.

“Where are we anyway?” He asked.

“I… I don’t know… do you know that door over there?” Sapphire asked, pointing to a barred door a level below them.

“No, wanna go knock?” He asked.

“Yeah, because it almost looks like someone lives there, and no one lives in Thieves Guild territory without them knowing,” Sapphire growled out.

“Well, it looks like someone does, so let’s go knock,” He said, already climbing down off the ledge.


	15. And there he goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musey's back-ish, they had a couple of rough days but we're up and at writing together again!
> 
> Written by Six!

He was surprised when the kid lifted his arm off the bar counter. When he looked up at the kid, he looked like his pet rabbit was just killed, his eyes puffy from tears and the tip of his thin nose red too from hard crying. When he tipped his head to the side to silently ask the kid what was wrong, the kid just lifted his arm straight up to get it out of the way and slid one thin leg over his lap and he found himself with a scrawny kid in his lap, a blonde head on his shoulder.

“Nameless?” He asked quietly.

He stroked the kid’s back, messaging all the bumps and ridges that were getting softer and slowly hiding underneath healthy fat and muscles, so prominent even through his leather armor. When he turned to the side, his lips brushed the kid’s jaw and he felt how tense the muscles were, almost taunt enough to break his damned jaw. What happened with the kid?

“Heard you went with Sapphire to help her with a job, lad… ”He said quietly, still stroking his back soothingly “Did it go wrong?”

The kid shook his head minutely, not moving much else besides that.

“…Alright then, but you can’t stay like this forever,” He said, patting the kid firmly between his shoulder-blades.

His mug skittered across the counter, moved by the kid’s tail that was out of his pants for some reason. Kid hated having it out, though it was probably for good reason since the damned thing always seemed to be getting yanked on by other members. Kid always screeched and hopped around, holding his arse and walking funny afterwards. He did not even try the first time the chance was presented, just pointed out that the kid ought to put his tail away before someone got frisky.

He nonchalantly curled the kid’s tail around his arm, rubbing his thumb between two spines along the length, feeling the smoothness of the scales and the slight warmth within the flesh. However, the kid did not even flinch, the thin body in his lap not so much as budging even as he continued to pet the tail around his arm.

Normally the kid did not like his tail getting touched and got rather snippy with him when he did. For him to just pet his tail like this… what happened?

“…Kid, you want to go to bed?” He asked.

“…no,” Nameless muttered, a small and thin thread of noise that sounded too rough and gruff “…Have nightmares…”

“Okay,” He said simply, nuzzling against the side of the kid’s neck.

It smelled faintly of the deeper rat-ways and the plant like smell of the potions that the kid drowned himself in constantly. But also sweat and the lingering wet swamp smell that always seemed to come from the kid’s scales. He did not know if he was repulsed or loved the kid’s unique scent.

He peeked over his other shoulder and happened to see Sapphire taking a heavy seat next to Vex, looking beyond tired. Her pretty blue eyes kept on a mug that Vex pushed her way, idly tracing the rim over and over again but never taking a drink. Damned… had to be bad if she was down of all people. With what she went through as a kid, it was just so strange to see something like this happen…

“Hey kid, tell me what happened,” He said quietly “Maybe I can help?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” The kid muttered.

“Well, there’s no chance of that happening if you don’t even tell me what’s wrong,” He said, turning his head to kiss the corner of the kid’s still tense jaw.

“…I’m scared…” The kid muttered.

“Everyone’s scared of something, wither it’s just goose-bumps or paralyzing and crippling fear,” He pointed out “Besides, I promised to be nicer, so I won’t make fun of you for it.”

“…This whole Dragonborn business…my freaky blood… I’m scared… of becoming a dragon…” The kid muttered.

“Don’t know, seems like it’d be an amazing thing, to be a dragon,” He chuckled softly, nuzzling into the kid’s neck more firmly “Immortal, feared, powerful, respected and or worshipped like a god?”

“A monster, a freak, hunted down and hated?” The kid retorted with an edge “Worse then what happens to me now?”

“Eh, you’re not monster or a freak. Weird, yes, but we all love you here, lad,” He smiled into the kid’s neck so that he would feel it “Not sure who would hunt you down though…”

The kid snorted. When he leaned back, his eyes were still red and puffy but he did not look as sad or downtrodden anymore. When he gave the kid another smile, he just scowled in turn, back to himself mostly.

“You are just saying that, and you’ve obviously have got some freaky fetish for lusting after my scaly ass,” The kid huffed.

“Maybe I do?” He leaned forward to nip the kid’s chin “But I mean it, you really don’t have to worry about this Dragonborn nonsense. Sure, legends say you’ve got a dragon’s soul, but no legends say anything about turning into actually dragons.”

“Yeah, but those legends were probably about Nords and not abominations like me,” The kid pointed out.

“Hmm, pretty sure you’re sick arse couldn’t take any changes anyway,” He chuckled only for the kid to puff his cheeks and roll his eyes at him “I’m right though!”

“Yeah, yeah, you probably are… ass biscuit,” The kid muttered, leaning down to bury his face in his shoulder again.

* * *

The kid went out and did a few jobs around town. Mostly fishing jobs for some minor loot to generate some profit and then turning most of it over to him to settle the ‘debt’. He figured that as soon as the guild was flourishing around he would call the debt good, but the kid was not asking for numbers or even ‘generally how far away he was from finishing it’. Which was fine, the kid was fantastic to have around for many reasons anyway, and maybe keeping him around a little longer was not such a bad thing.

He seemed to break everyone’s bad luck by just being there, jobs going down without a hitch, strokes of bad luck not happening anymore, trips and fumbles a rare occurrence instead of expected. The guild actually started turning a profit with more and more flowing in the longer he stayed. They even got a few more shop keepers into the Ragged Flagon that also got things rolling, keeping a steady profit by trading and selling ill gotten goods.

Not to mention, the kid seemed to raise morale. The kid’s loud and childish personality just raised the spirits, and he really was cute despite his scaly bits. He was just so young and energetic, so animated and fiery, like breathing life into a place haunted by rot and death and suddenly it was all rum and candles. Even if he got all fired up about being a thief and hating it, most everyone just laughed like they were dealing with a bratty kid.

Not to mention, he just loved the way the kid was in bed. All mushy, breathy and moaning like he did, shaking minutely as he got closer and closer to release, the way that his lean hips moved, the way that his stomach went taunt to the touch, his scaly and talon tipped toes curling as he was overcome with pleasure, the way that his tail curled lovelingly around his hip and how he jerked as it rubbed the sensitive skin. He liked the way that the kid kissed, shyly and sweetly, hesitant because he had no idea what he was doing, but making up with the general sweetness of his shy moving lips and the softness of his long tongue that was forked just slightly at the tip.

The kid was all kinds of too good for his own sake, and he thoroughly loved enjoying every bit of it. Kid was like a fucking breath of air after almost drowning. Like splashing color on a painting thirsting for the color. Like a sunrise after a horrific and long night.

His little sunshine…yeah, sounded right. Maybe even Sunshine would not be too bad of a name for him if he ever sought one. Nameless has this dark romance novel feel to it, and would make a historic name to whisper among the scared folks who guarded their pockets like children. To think, it was all because of a white lie and some aggressive training and himself sharpening his own skills, for all these great things to happen! What luck!

Then to end each day curled around the kid, rubbing his face against the smooth and warm scales against the kid’s neck, was perfect and he found himself not stressing over the future of the guild, but enjoying the skinny body in his arms and the soft and sometimes troubled breathing of the kid as he slept not so soundly most nights.

Something that was bothering him was the number of nightmares that the kid had. Waking him up in the middle of the night, shivering and shaking and sweating as his nail bit into the blankets and his eyes glowed yellow faintly in the dark of night. Sometimes the kid woke up muttering in this strange and gurttal language, looking scared and frightened like he had just faced down a Daedric Lord in his breechcloth. Sometimes he woke up and he caught only a few words from the kid as he sobbed and cried, always something along the lines of:

“I’m not a dragon,”

It seemed that the kid was haunted by nightmares of becoming a dragon as this whole Dragonborn business. Nightmares of becoming a dragon as his power overwhelmed him. No matter how much reassured the kid that something like that was impossible, the kid kept having nightmares about it.

He kept reassuring the kid that nothing like that could ever happen. That, while the legends were mostly about Nordic Dragonborns, that none of them ever describing them becoming dragons and that he had nothing to worry about. But something was fraying the kid’s nerves, making him edgy and jumpy and twitchy like he was watching his back for a backstab from those Dark Brotherhood assassin. He figured after a week after the job with Sapphire, that there was something more going on then the kid getting scared about this Dragonborn business.

“Kid… tell me what happened,” He said firmly as the kid was peeling off his armor for the night.

The kid yanked his chest piece off, his ruffled hair falling over his eyes for a moment as he stared blankly into the air as though through a trance. He watched those yellow and red flecked eyes twitch minutely for several seconds before the kid sighed deeply, looking oh so tired and worn out and sick like when he first came to the guild.

“Down in the ratways… you know the old man down there, right?” The kid sullenly asked.

“Yes lad, he pays the guild a good chunk of coin to keep his location quiet,” He said, reaching out to right some of the hair out of the kid’s face.

“Right… he…we found him, down there. He took one look at me and he just… he just knew… about the Dragonborn thing,” Nameless said “He got all excited and said that the legends were coming together…”

He grabbed the kid’s sides and pulled him into his lap, taking care of getting the kid out of the rest of his armor because the kid was only twenty years old but suddenly looked like an abused and misused thirty something old man that just wanted to die. The kid leaned into him, pressing those dragon eyes into the side of his neck as he pried the gauntlets off the kid’s thin arms and wrists.

“He said that there’s this big, black dragon fucker out there called Alduin. He’s the fabled world eater, and he’s going to consume the world if I don’t take him down because I’m the last Dragonborn out there. There’s no more after me, so it has to be me and…” The kid broke off his rambling and pressed deeper into the side of his neck and he felt the kid shake with the coming of tears.

“Why? I was just a fucked up beggar in Markarth, who was forced to become a thief… then this whole Dragonborn business and now… if I can’t get my useless and sick scrawny ass to defeat an all powerful dragon the world is doomed… I literally can’t do this…”

He got the kid’s gauntlets off, got his belt off with a crisp snap of his wrist and was pushing his trousers down, the kid kicking out of his own boots on his own accord. In the dim light, he saw the blues, greens and yellows of the kid’s scales gleaming with lustrous health. Like each scales was a perfect gem that had been polished and shined, so perfect in its transition from the dark blues all the way to the yellow scales that broke out into the kid’s golden skin. The golden skin looked so much better than that night he pried the hood off of the oh so mysterious Dragonborn and was struck with the inspiration to take him back in a vain attempt to break their sour luck. Skin so soft and warm and healthy looking rather than the paper thinness and dullness like that night.

“You’re a tough little weird shit, lad,” He said soothingly “You’ll figure out something.”

“Cough on him until he gets sick or gets sick of me?” The kid laughed humorlessly.

“Something clever, because you’re a clever, sneaky little shit with weird powers. Just flash your scales and then throw a dagger in his eye when he’s distracted,” He laughed silently.

* * *

He was not surprised when he woke up alone. He figured that the kid would run off after telling him what was destroying his mind.

What did surprise him was that the kid left a note. Written in a neat and laborious scrawl was:

_Dear Brynjolf,_

_I’m sorry for leaving like this, but I’m not running away. You still hold that debt over my head and I don’t totally hate you. But if I don’t take care of this fucker Alduin, then it’s going to kill and destroy everything I love in both Markarth and Riften. Oblivion, he’ll kill my parents if they’re alive before I can flay them myself. So I need to take care of this, before everything I love is lost._

_Signed, Nameless_

He did not know why, but his eyes started burning after he read that damned letter.


	16. Return of the Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: M!Dragonborn/Brynjolf, kissing, heated kissing, touching.
> 
> He finally returns, after so damned long
> 
> Written/Editted by Six

_Six months have crawled on by. Each day more brutal then the last. Training, endless training, endless days of my body trying to quit and becoming violently ill, only to be made to train those days too._

_But my talons are sharp now, sharp enough to rend flesh from bone. My scales are natural armor now. I can swim for miles without stopping, my lungs able to breathe underwater like my Argonian parent. Endless hours of filling my head with knowledge and now I can recall the details to give me the edge against any living and undead creature across this damned place. My sword arm is brutal, my eye for aim making me lethal at a distance as well._

_However, unknown to my brutal teachers, that Esbern bitch and the uber fucking cunt Delphine, I’ve been working on my thieving skills as well. I can pick the pockets of even alert enemies, stripping their weapons and even parts of their armor off before they know any better. Death makes more noise than me when I start sneaking about, I can even disappear in plain sight if I put my mind to it._

_Towns have a habit of getting stripped of everything valuable when I come through, as you know because I’ve been sending all this loot to you. I really hope that those shifty bastards aren’t skimming from the top when I send them these crates of valuables. Hopefully, anyway, I could care less. I plan on coming back and working with you again. Hopefully, anyway, you know that big black dragon I left to go fight? As of this letter, the planned battle between him and me is three days away. So, hopefully I can kick his sorry ass and come back, my being back will be the next you hear from me if I win, cause I’ll run straight there._

_You thought I hated you at first, guess what me and uber fucking cunt do all the damned time? We both still have bruises from our last fight, I can’t fucking stand her. Guess it’s been a good thing that we’ve been patching things up through letters, right?_

_Gods above I miss you something terrible, Bryn._

There were several lines scribbled out, hard enough to completely erase the letters underneath. But he had a feeling for at least the jest.

_I hope to see you soon. Just give me three days to get myself together and kill this fucking asshole threatening the world, okay?_

_Love, Nameless._

The letter had arrived four days ago.

The battle for the world had happened two days ago.

The ground shook and shuddered, the skies rolled and churned with violent thunderstorm after violent thunderstorm. Seas were rough and churned this way and that, sinking ships left and right and finally driving everyone to shore until they settled. People huddled in their homes and prayed to whatever gods they worshipped that they lived through the worst to see a world not doomed to be devoured by a fabled world eater. To see the light of the next morning and not be taken and their souls eaten by Aludin waiting in Sovengarde.

Finally, everything stopped and the clouds parted and the seas calmed and it felt like the world was shaking from the after effects. Like everyone was taking in a deep breath after it all had happened.

But the kid had yet to be seen…

Which was a gods damned shame. The kid and him had been patching things up through their letters. First just talking nonsense back and forth, and then finally him ‘man’-ing up and apologizing for his bastard behavior to the kid. The kid also apologized for his childish behavior, and he was almost sad to these this child like behavior fade from the kid as he read more and more letters. It was like watching someone run through the years and it was… sad.

Sometimes he liked to think of the kid scribbling down the letters, in the dark of the night with a single candle, frowning as he concentrated on each letter like he had been taught and some bruise on his face. Sometimes he liked to think that the kid pressed the letters to his face to see if he could catch a scent. Sometimes he just hoped that his letters would make the kid smile on the other end because he knew that the kid was probably cussing up a storm and frowning all the time.

The day that the kid had originally said that he would be back, he waited by the gates to the city to greet him. Stood there for six hours before taking a break and coming back to wait another six. When the sun set, he went home and slept poorly, trying not to think those damned thoughts and the kid not showing up.

The next day he waited oh so patiently, lingering by the door that lea into the Ratways.

The other thieves were surprised when his surly expression was there to greet them, but said nothing as he stood and waited for the kid to show up. They needed to focus on stealing, not his continued grumpy and moody behavior. The kid’s lingering break of bad luck might have caught them a break, but they still needed to work to break even. The kid’s haul did so much, but they would not live off his hard work. He made sure of that when the first crate of pretty things came in.

As the sun set low for the day, he was sure that the kid was dead officially. This long when he had set a time and date for his scrawny, cute arse to be there? As much as it made his chest clench up as though he had gotten an Orc punch to his gut, he had to come to terms with it. 

Nameless were fun while he lasted. Cute, feisty, like a breath of fresh air after breathing not but stagnant air for years. Brightening up everyone’s day with his childish behavior and his loud and brash mannerism. Oblivion, even teasing the kid as the highlight of some of his days of lockpicks breaking and slicing open his hand, slick spots that made him trip and stumble, fumbles and too alert pickpocket targets.

But… for him to be really gone… he did not know. Felt like the sun had been ripped from the sky for some reason.

He found himself in the Ragged Flagon with a drink in his hand and a headache splitting his skull open. When he started drinking, he did not know, just that everything was not blurry or fuzzy yet, and the drink in his hand was warm.

“Brynjolf… you okay?”

“I don’t know,” He sighed heavily, scrubbing through his hair.

He looked down at his drink, the bubbles long gone and the smell of mint coming out stronger then the smell of honey from the warmth. Though drinking it now would be disgusting, he was tempted if it warmed his belly at all, because a certain nameless thief would not be warming his bed or heart anytime soon and he felt oh so cold…

“Aren’t you a sight for sorry eyes,” A crate landed on the counter next to him, a crate that Nameless usually shipped his stolen goods in “Here I thought you would have waited for me by the door. Didn’t know you would be so heartbroken about me being late that you would be drinking of all things.”

_That voice…_

He almost did not want to look, thinking maybe this was a trick of his mind. Was he that torn up about the brat that now he was tricking his own mind into seeing him to soothe the ache? Was he really losing his mind over this kid?

“Hey there, Nameless,” Vekel greeted kindly, washing out a mug while he chatted with the person just behind him and to his side “This ‘ll be the last stash we get, I take it?”

“Yeah, I’ll be getting back into the swing of working real soon, just tired because I ran my ass here all the way from Whiterun,” That terribly familiar voice sighed heavily.

“Heard all about that, you know,” Vekel “You went to Sovengarde?”

“Yeah…weird place…then again a lot of the things you Nords do are weird,” That voice said “But it was… fantastic… amazing… all those brave men and women there, the stories they had to tell, the places they’ve seen…”

“Will you be going after everything?” Vekel chuckled.

“Actually, according to the gatekeeper… I will,” That voice said “He apparently couldn’t give a shit that I’m half elf and half Argonian. The fact that I killed Alduin ‘in perhaps the most epic battle he has ever witnessed’ is enough to get me in unless I really, _really_ fuck up.”

He could not stand it anymore. Slowly, ever so slowly, as if he was afraid to chase away whatever was talking behind him, be Nameless or just a figment of his imagination, he turned around into his seat to look.

The person behind him was tall and lanky, hidden underneath a long black cloak. A hood covered all of his head but a few dirty blonde locks that slipped out of the shadow that covered the face. Seeing him turn, the cloak parted, an arm angling out to place on his hip. A thin forearm was wrapped in black leather gauntlet, except the fingers. The fingers… dark blue scales that faded into emerald scales and long grey talons that tipped the slender and long fingers.

“Nameless?” He asked quietly.

“Hey Bryn,” Nameless greeted back.

Nameless took the seat next to him, tilting his head towards just slightly that he saw the kid’s angular features just slightly, and the glint of orange colored eyes. There was a small smile that he could see through the shadow, the corner of Nameless’ lips quirked up into this tired little smile that made his chest feel all light and tingly.

“You done sulking yet?” Nameless asked.

He just chuckled lightly, reaching out and brushing his fingers against Nameless’ fingers, feeling the scales there. Tougher then he remembered, but still so achingly familiar that he kept brushing his fingers against the kid’s fingers.

“Hmm… not yet,”

* * *

Nameless had a lot to talk about.

He went on and on about his ‘teachers’. Delphine, which he rarely called her opting instead to call her ‘cunt’ or ‘bitch’, from what he gathered was rude, stubborn, stuck up and paranoid to a fault. She was constantly eyeing him like he was a Thalmor spy, more so that he was half Altmer apparently, which only worsened their relationship.

“I told her time, and time again that I never knew my Altmer parent, let alone if they were Thalmor, but she would always throw jabs my way, what a bitch!” Nameless quipped.

Esbern was apparently more tolerable, more focused. But something against everything scaly.

“Apparently because I’m scaly, he didn’t really trust me, always muttering how kind I was to the dragons,” The kid sighed.

“Kind to dragons?” He asked.

“…Okay, so there’s this peaceful dragon that lives atop the mountains where the Greybeards live and they wanted me to kill him and I… couldn’t,” Nameless muttered “He’s just so nice that I… couldn’t.”

“You’re a riot, Nameless,” He laughed jovially.

Finally the kid leaned against him.

“I’m tired Bryn, can we go snuggle for a bit?” He asked against his shoulder, nuzzling slightly.

“Of course, lad,” He grinned.

Of course he would not lead the lad to the common’s beds. No privacy there unless there was something going on in the Ragged Flagon. No, for their first night back, this needed to be special. So he went back up to the surface, and out to the Bee and Bard and paid for the corner room that was infamous for being quiet, ready to release six months of aching, wanting and tension.

Inside the kid tried to reach for his hood, but he caught those thin wrists.

He had the kid pinned against the wall, holding his wrists above his head. His hood was still pulled up and his hair was in his face, but he started pressing hard kiss after hard kiss to his frowning, pouting mouth. He felt a scar whenever his lips scrapped across the corner of the kid’s mouth. But he did not care because he had the kid where he wanted him and he felt starved of the brat. He bit the kid’s lower lip and felt Nameless shudder between the walls of his body and the wall to his back.

He shoved his hand underneath the kid’s shirt, ripping two buttons off to get at the skin underneath. Underneath the worn and cold fabric, he felt the kid’s warm skin underneath his fingertips. It felt tougher than the last time he stroked the pretty skin, not as soft as it did before, and he felt the dips and curves of muscle underneath that were definitely not there before. But it was still the kid and he greedily groped along the skin, memorizing the feeling underneath his hands.

The kid moaned underneath the assault, hips starting to rut against his to grind the course cloth against the leather of his armor. He threw a glance down to see the lump in Nameless’ pants. Seemed that the kid was just as excited as he was for this, and he was sure that the kid would be pleased with their reunion.

He let the kid’s hands go before using his freed hands to start tearing at his clothing. The kid’s found his hair to hold his head there, letting him assault his mouth but pressing him closer. The kid’s hood got yanked off first, letting his wild hair fall. The messy and shaggy Mohawk had grown, the top hair trailing down to his neck in length and the shortened hair at the sides of his head almost an inch in length. There was a scar that started from the corner of his forehead and slated down sharply to cross across the bridge of his nose and end. There was also a scar at the corner of his mouth that cut across the corner of his lips and then hooked up into his cheek before fading off near his temple.

“Damn kid, they were rough on you,” He panted against the kid’s mouth.

“I’m too ugly for you now?” Nameless panted. 

His face was older now, lines from hard training that took the softness and teenage like youth of his face, leanness from stress and wear and tear. He now had those attractive, angular features of his Altmer blood and hardness to his face that told of a hard and unhappy life. His eyes, a soft orange color now and flecked with flakes of ruby and gold that gave them such breathtaking depth, instead of that pale yellow from before, were flat and unreadable.

“You’re still too damned cute,” He grunted, kissing the frown from the kid’s mouth until it melted into something more lustful and softer against his own.

Snapping the cloak off, he tore the kid’s shirt over his head and swept his hands across the kid’s skin. He found several thin and long scars along his chest, one pink and still warm to the touch with newness and one almost faded back into the golden skin. When his hands strayed to further along his sides and to the edges of his back, he found that the scales felt tougher underneath his fingers, more craggily and rough to the touch. He amusingly thought that they felt more dragon like then the babe Argonian smoothness that they were before, and gave his nails and fingers something to catch as he sought more with his hands.

Tearing his hands away from his exploration, he found Nameless’ trouser-band and yanked down on it, also tearing down on his breechcloth until they slipped down his lean thighs.

The kid stepped out of his breechcloth and his pants, and also shaking his feet free of his boots. The kid’s weird Argonian feet stepped out, the wicked curved talons clicking on the stone. Those needed to be clipped sometime soon. When he curled his hand around the base of Nameless’ tail, it felt thick and the spines sharper and deadlier then before. The kid nipped his lower lip and pulled back the inch so he could scowl at him.

“Well?” Nameless snapped.

Ah, the scales now. Seemed that Nameless did not mind much what happened to his face, but the scales were always a touchy thing with the kid.

“Different, but I’m not put off by it,” He replied cheekily, licking the kid’s frowning mouth.

He lifted the pouting brat off his likely tired legs and heaved him over to the bed, laying him down into the mattress and listening to the hay crinkle underneath their combined weight. He kissed the kid’s soft lips while he started in on the straps to his armor.

A clever idea came to him, and he pulled back while slowly licking his lips and started in on his armor. Slowly and teasingly, he started giving the kid a good show of taking off his clothing, slowly and sensually undoing the straps and pulling the clothing off. The kid watched attentively, sometimes licking his own lips and swallowing thickly.

When his undershirt finally came off, he felt the kid’s shy fingers along his stomach, rubbing the skin slowly and without confidence. He just grinned down at him, letting him touch the pale and freckled skin while he hooked his fingers into his waistband of both his trousers and his breechcloth and started slowly tugging the material down. The deep line of his hips were revealed, the first few wiry hairs leading from below his bellybutton and down further until he could tug himself free of the confining material. Half filled with blood and starting to go ruddy with color, Nameless licked his lips slowly as he shifted around enough to get out of his trousers.

He pulled the kid up and pressed him against him before claiming his mouth in a deep and affectionate kiss. His hands roamed across Nameless’ back, feeling the rough dips and bumps of the thick scales along his back, finding the spines along his spine that were more prominent then before. All the way down his back until he could trail his fingers down Nameless’ lean arse and grab two handfuls of that, making the lad jolted in his grip and accidently grind them together.

When Nameless pulled away, his face was flushed rose-gold and those gems for eyes of his were blown wide. The slightly slit pupils were large and open too, taking him in as he just smirked and wiped the spit from the kid’s chin.

“Still want to snuggle?” He chuckled.

“I did, but I can wait until after,” Nameless grunted “Not a lot of time for alone time for uh… alone time.”

He smirked as he kissed Nameless’ mouth, savoring the feeling against his own and the warmth of the lean body underneath of his as he blanketed it with his own.

That tight and wound up ball inside his chest slowly unraveled.


	17. Welcome Back, Nameless Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Implied m/m smut
> 
> Short update to get this story going again!

He felt like Brynjolf was making love to him like the scenes in those terrible romance novels that Tonilia tricked him into reading when she was first teaching him to read.

He was all loving touches and slow, sensual movements. Bryn’s lips hardly ever left his, when they did they were so devoutly kissing some part of his skin, seemingly finding no difference between the elf skin and the Argonian scales. There was nothing but sweet nothings coming off his tongue, whispering things that had him blushing ear to ear or cursing softy with a thickening of his accent. Almost every one of his own little, to too large and almost howling moans of pleasure was eagerly taken in while skilled hands reverently touched him all over.

Bryn seemed intent on making it last, turning him this way and that before either of them could spend themselves. He begged through his panting to come and Bryn would just taunt his ears with his skilled lips and tongue and rob him of what little breath he had, being moved into a new position that had the need to release in him full almost to bursting. When he came too close, Bryn’s fingers circled the base of his cock and squeezed borderline painfully tight and it was staved off for a couple more thrusts into him.

At one point Bryn had him bent nearly in half with his knees almost by his ears as the sly man pounded into him. His tail was curled around Bryn’s chest as though it could move him faster or stall his movements, his arms wrapped around Bryn’s neck and the man sucking the taste, saliva, moans and his tongue out of his mouth almost desperately. Truth be told… it might have been the sexiest thing that had ever happened in his life.

When Bryn finally relented he was in the man’s lap, legs wrapped up behind his back, mouths latched together and Bryn’s hand jerking him off. He was getting out half whimpers in between each slobber filled kiss. His tongue curled around Bryn’s when he was not trying to form half words of pleading. He supposed that he eventually begged to come because Bryn started to quickly jerk him off and him started screaming Brynjolf’s name as he spent himself over Bryn’s fingers and chest, feeling himself get filled as the man underneath of him spent himself as well.

So over sensitized from being held on the edge of orgasm, he had to immediately pull away from Brynjolf, at least getting the cock out of his ass and get away from the hand around his prick. The heartbroken look in Brynjolf’s eyes as he pulled away made him think twice though, and he pushed himself against Bryn’s chest, curling up tightly against the man’s chest and pushing his head underneath Bryn’s chin. The few wiry hairs on Bryn’s chest scrubbed against his sweaty skin uncomfortably and he still smelled faintly of ale, but he did not have the heart to do anything about it.

“I missed you, lad,” Bryn purred against his temple.

He just sighed contently. If being with uber bitch had done anything to him, it was temper his well… temper and smart mouth. Not to mention, he just had a mind blowing orgasm and did not feel like getting the man riled up with a snarky comment.

Bryn’s lips and fingers worked all through his hair, giving him loving attention. He scraped his nails across Bryn’s freckled skin, hearing the man let out pleased little sounds almost like a big, asshole ginger cat. That brought a smile to his face and Bryn stole a kiss off his smiling lips.

“You really did miss me?” He chuckled.

“Something terrible, lad,” Bryn purred against his temple.

“Get the blanket will you?” He mumbled, feeling his eyes get heavy “As warm as you are, I’m still cold here.”

Rather than the snarky remark that he was expecting, Bryn just grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around him, snuggling in close.

Why if he did not know better… he would have thought that Bryn had feelings for him…

* * *

“Hey Mercer! Kid’s back, he’ll be back after Brynjolf’s back,”

Mercer’s face cracked into a demented grin.

* * *

“EASY!”

Bryn just nipped his ear tip, still using his entire weight to pin him down and hold out his unresisting hand to carefully take the edge of his sharp, sharp dagger and clip his talons off. Thankfully his nails were still a bit dry and brittle from his training and Bryn’s dagger was sharp, so it was easy to cut into the thick, dark grey nails and render them once again harmless instead of deadly secondary weapons.

“Not too close to the quik,” He warned the idiot laying on him.

“Relax,” Bryn purred against his ear, cleaning up one of the edges before taking hold of another finger “Trust me, Nameless.”

He grumbled loudly, using his free hand to nervously gnaw on the thick scales across his knuckles. It had become a nervous habit of his, especially since there was no way to stop the toughening or thickening of his scales, and his teeth always needed something to blunt themselves on since they seemed to always grow and sharpen when he was not tending to them.

Bryn kissed his temple, gently shortening his nails down until they looked like grey painted nails on both of his hands, taking up one when he was done and kissing each of his salvia coated knuckles. His tail curled loosely around the back of Bryn’s right calf, seeking the comfortable foothold since he knew that Bryn would not suddenly move and pull on his sensitive tail. Not to mention, the gentle and sly lips of his were peppering feather light kisses along the back of his ear, side of his neck and the back of his neck.

“It was only a small scratch,” He pouted.

“Right,” Bryn chuckled in his ear before nibbling on his earlobe “Says the person that wrapped the bandages that need to be changed here soon.”

“You’re a child,” He snapped “So I accidently scratched you with my nails. You didn’t need to trim them!”

Bryn nipped his ear-tip, making him jolt underneath the man. But then gathered his right hand up and brought it up close enough that he could kiss his fingers, now being able to press the tips against his lips without worry.

“We should probably at one point head back, I’m sure Mercer is thoroughly pissed at me,” He said.

“Probably,” Bryn purred against his fingers “But I’m feeling possessive and need some time alone with you.”

“Careful Bryn, if I didn’t know any better I’d say that you actually like me,” He teased.

“You should be careful as well,” Bryn rumbled against his knuckles “You keep acting nice and complacent like you are and I’ll think you can actually stand me.”

“Maybe I can after being stuck with those two bastards for so long,” He said.

He pried himself away from Bryn and rolled off the bed to get his clothing. As he pulled his breechcloth and trousers up, he felt clever lips against the back of his neck and felt clever hands on his chest.

“Stay,” Bryn asked.

“Make me,” He taunted.

Bryn easily picked him up, flailing limbs and all, and carted him like a bride back to bed. He was dumped back onto the sheets and a ginger bastard crawled onto him and used his superior weight to pin him to the sheets, lips brushing his throat. Bryn nipped the skin as he tried half heartedly to escape from underneath Bryn’s weight, laughing as Bryn’s facial hair tickled his skin.

“Oh come on, at least let me get my pants on!” He laughed.

“No, I want to see that cute ass some more,” Bryn purred against his throat.

“Can I wear your shirt then? I still get sick if I get too cold,” He quipped, digging his heels into the backs of Bryn’s thighs to make him focus.

“Hmm, sexy,” Bryn rumbled.

Eventually he did get Bryn’s shirt pulled over his head, hanging loosely over his narrow hips and not really covering much besides his torso, but something as he tangled himself in Brynjolf, warm and ginger hair peppered legs wrapping around his own, strong arms wrapping around his chest and clever lips so close that they almost kissed whenever they moved.

“Nice to have you back, Nameless,” Bryn smiled softly at him.

“Not too bad to be back, Brynjolf,” He grinned back.


	18. The Snake and the Wolf and the Nameless Creature Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT TWIST
> 
> Written by The Muse Six

“Nice of you to finally join us, Nameless,” Mercer said flatly. It was without bitter edge or anger surprisingly, so it had to be assumed that Mercer knew where Nameless was the entire time he was gone. Or perhaps the confident swagger that Nameless strutted, or the confident pose that he struck as he stood there did something in Mercer.

Nameless stood, balance unevenly leveled on his legs in a comfortable and confident slouch. His arms were also loosely and almost brazenly manner across his chest. He once again wore his Thieves Guild armor, filling it out better than he had before, while his spine covered tail lazily brushed against the ground. His eyes, such a vivid orange color with those slits for pupils, lazily regarded Mercer.

It was obvious that those months away had filled Nameless with confidence, health, and only sharpened his brazen attitude in regards to those that he found displeasing. Not to mention, with his much more lizard like appearance, he was almost intimidating to look at.

“Well, I had to go save the world,” Nameless said nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders. His lips quirked up for a second into an motion that was almost a smile, revealing the edges of sharp teeth that now filled Nameless’ mouth. Dragon’s teeth to fill a dragon’s maw, with a biting and clever tongue just behind the fine points ready to be used lethally.

“As I well and heard,” Mercer said calmly, still no edge to his voice “Let me just say, I, for one, am still grateful for my hide being here.”

There were a couple of mumbled and muttered thanks that Nameless chose not to react to. He just tilted his head ever so slightly forward, before setting those dragon eyes on Mercer again.

“So, boss, anything you want to throw at me, now that I’m home?” Nameless asked.

“Hmm… how rusty are you?” Mercer asked, sounding genuine.

“Not by much, I was still stealing while I was away, remember? I was after all, almost single handedly funding the guild while I was away. But I could go for some light jobs to brush up a bit, if that was where you were heading.”

“Yeah, get some odd jobs from Vex and the others,” Mercer said, something akin to the edge finally creeping into his voice, though completely unreadable “Then come to me when you feel up to the next job I got for you.”

With that, Mercer left and Nameless let his arms swing down, shifting on hard scale covered hand to his hip as the others finally drew closer to finally greet him back, as Brynjolf had been rather swift in his claiming of Nameless when he first got back. He was greeted with hugs, handshakes, gently poking and prodding at his more lizard like features, so many questions about his time away. Nameless, the gracious returner, returned each hug, shook each offered hand, shooed away prodding fingers and hands and answered the questions as best he could.

“So Dragonborn, so you have fiery breath yet?” Sapphire asked coyly.

“Why yes I can, I can breathe fire, ice, I can call monstrous storms, my voice can draw a dragon to my side, my voice can be an unrelenting force and I can even throw my voice,” Nameless said almost coyly as Bryn coiled almost possessively around him, smirking against the back of Nameless scaly, pointy ear. The spine covered and draconic tail of the half breed thief curled around one of Brynjolf’s leg just as possessively.

“Sounds like our nameless thief is a real dragon now,” Rune chuckled “Does that mean we have Oblivion’s luck now?”

“We’ve got coin out the ass now, so Oblivion yeah!” Vex said with a joyous holler, prompting the thieves around them to join in while Nameless just softly smiled at them.

“We’ll have plenty more as soon as we can get some new jobs off the ground,” Nameless said once the din had calmed down “So Vex, got some light work for me to sharpen my skills some?”

* * *

Once he had pried himself away from the loving arms of Bryn, he was handed a small list of jobs to do around Skyrim. They varied to light to harder, with varying objectives and little bonuses to his skills sharpened again, though he had been truthful in the fact that he did not really need it, as he had taken to keep using his skills while he was training with the so called teacher of his.

In the wee hours he had climbed down from the temple and taken to stealing, pick pocketing and out sneaking the Forsworn, something a bit more deadly than the citizens that he normally stole from. Sneaking around the twitchy Brentons, stealing from their rough leather pockets, trailing behind them silently to improve his light feet, it was hard training on him and left him with more scars that he cared for. But the harsh training kept his skills sharp while he was being drilled in the ways of dragon hunting, being the Dragonborn and all that heroic bullshit that he was forced to do while he was away.

Most days he found that he missed being a thief.

But the jobs were relatively easy to get done, if not needing more time to commute between each one then get one done. Steal a ring here, take some valuables from a house, swipe a certain amount of wealth from a city, frame this person and sometimes even swipe the things before the Dark Brotherhood killed a target that happened to overlap. All in all, some rather uneventful jobs that got him in the right mind set for stealing again.

It was while he was in Whiterun that he started making mistakes.

He stole a ring from some stuffy old man obsessed with his family and sealed it in a letter and sent it with a courier before he wondered if the Companions would remember him. He stayed with them a few days and he was sure that his sickness would have left an impression on them. Not to mention, he had grown rather fond of Farkas in his short time there and wanted to see him again. Surely Farkas would feel something about his not being sick all the time.

So he down a potion and trotted over to the Companions’ home, drawing his cloak tight around himself as night sucked what little warmth out of the day there had been. Hopefully that delightful fire that he remembered was still a thing inside, though he recalled distinctly that the Companions themselves were always warm blooded people.

Inside was indeed warm, the fire pit crackling ever so delightfully away. He felt the warmth leech into his armor and warm his scaly and Elven skin right up and felt his chest lightened up. He breathed in the almost homely smell of leather, dogs, warmth and the faint smell of ale. Smelled a lot better the then Cistern, and was overall more inviting then the Cistern.

“What brings you here, stranger?”

A familiar archer had just come up from downstairs and happened to spot him first, trailing her fingers along the railing.

“Hello to you too, Alea,” He said, tugging his cloak down and letting his hair free.

“Well, well, well,” Alea smirked “If it isn’t our sickly little pup. How are you, Nameless?”

Alea, despite the fact that she had punched him hard enough to rattle teeth, hit it off with him because he had been interested in her bow and got her talking about it. She had taught him a few beginners pointers before he left as well, and was the reason for the bow now slung over his shoulder. Delphine might have tried to shove sword training down his gullet, but it was because of Alea that he managed to sneak some bow training into what little time was left from thieving and Dragonborn training.

“Great now that I’m in better company,” He smiled at the archer as she beckoned him towards the table “I think you’ll like to hear my side of the tale of where I’ve been the last couple of months.”

“Well I know how it ends at least,” Alea smiled as they sat down and she immediately shoved a plate with some warm food on towards him “A glorious battle in Sovengard!”

“Ah, so you heard about that?” He chuckled.

“Nameless, I doubt that there isn’t a person who hasn’t heard about it,” Alea smiled “Especially us Nords. That’s our afterlife after all.”

“Oh I know, and my half bred ass still got a chance to experience it,” He laughed “So, want to get the others while I take your not so subtle hint to eat something?”

That just got him a smile as Alea got back up to fetch the rest of the Companions.

* * *

He spent a few hours happily retelling the tale of the battle against the World Eater to the eager Companions. Even the non-Nords seemed eager to hear the tale, and of course the questions. They threw question after question at him until he had to gently scold them to let him tell the damned story and then he would answer them. 

They wanted to know details, the size of the dragon and the legendary Nords that he had fought with, how it was on the other side, how it felt to literally shake the world with his voice. Eventually they strayed from his story to his powers. They made jokes about his being half-dragon and he laughed at them when but half a year ago he would have had a serious panic episode. He was not half dragon, and they could laugh and joke and prod all they wanted, but he was just half-Argonian. Sure, he could breath fire, ice, bring forth storms and had a dragon at his beck and call, but he was no dragon. 

Dragons had pride and he had lost that long ago.

During the highlight of the night, he got lovelingly sandwiched between the twins. Mostly it was because the fire was getting low and his shivering and chattering teeth finally got called to attention, but he also liked to think that he got along with the twins best. 

Farkas, with his blunt, honest and wholesome personality, was always kind to him and understanding of his weak constitution and he always loved his bluntness and honesty. Sometimes he caught Farkas staring in an almost enamored way and caught him being… well he did not want to call it over-familiarity or flirtatious, but some bastard child between the two of them. He had no idea where he stood with Bryn, so he did not really tell him to stop or nurture the feelings of the man because honestly… as far as he knew he was single and sometimes had flings with a man that he still did not always get along with.

Vilkas and him got along because according to most everyone, they had the most alike personalities. According to the others they were both grouches, moody, snippy, prone to wanting to be alone rather than with others, as well as being as keen on being touched or talked too. He wanted to argue back, but as he observed Vilkas and indeed saw these patterns and asked the others and said they saw the same in him, he just gruffed and let them laugh. So what, they were likewise individuals and if he ever wanted a silent companion to just sit and be with, Vilkas would be there for him.

One of Farkas’ thick arms was draped over his shoulders as Vilkas argued with Njada about fighting dragons. Apparently she wanted to punch one to death and Vilkas was telling her ‘no’.

“HHeeeeyyyy, Namey,” Tovar drawled, coming over with a cup “Ey finely did it.”

“Did what?” He asked.

“Mixed one of yers potionshuns with ale,” Tovar said “An it tashs great!”

“Oh really? Well hand it over then and let me be the judge of that,” He grinned, taking the cup from Tovar’s hands before the drunk toppled and spilled it all.

He took a sip and was pleasantly surprised with the taste. It tasted like… ale. Most any other time, when someone tried to mix one of his potions with alcohol, it tasted like day old vomit and sweat and lingered on the tongue for hours. While the drink had a slightly bitter after taste, it tasted of good chilled ale and he could not be happier. He took a long swing of the drink and reveled in the delightful slow burn as it washed down his throat and landed comfortably in his stomach without cussing a sickening fuss.

“This is amazing Tovar, thank you,” He said, lifting the concoctions up in cheers.

“Heh, knew I could do it,” Tovar grinned before staggering over to his own drinks.

He nursed his drink slowly, not wanting to get drunk but just enough himself, as he listened to Vilkas and Njada argued and he enjoyed the heat radiating off of Farkas. It almost made him dozy despite the noise and he found his mind slowly shutting down as he started nodding off. 

Perhaps it was just as he started to sag that the nails were nailed into his coffin.

As he sagged, Farkas reflexively curled and yanked him close to catch him. He ended up pressed against Farkas’ side, the hulking wall of muscle and warmth. His mind was too tired and the jostling did not clear any of the doziness away, but instead only lulled his mind further into sleep’s tight grip. He snuggled into Farkas’ side as best he could despite both their armor’s, tucking his head into the crook of Farkas’ neck to get some warmth on his face. 

Like this he started to trail off into the darkness until his mind was submerged and he fell asleep half propped up on Farkas.

* * *

He had a dream.

A snake coiled lovelingly around his throat, biting his shoulders when his head was turned. He felt the bitter poison infecting his blood, but he never saw the snake bite so he could not blame the snake for the poison despite knowing that it was the snake’s bite slowly killing. He snapped his head side to side but the snake was always faster and bit him faster and harder and shot that much more poison into him.

_Debt, debt, debt, debt… have you paid your debt yet?_

He grabbed at the snake but in a blur his hands were filled with poison and the fight drained out of them. His arms fell to his side and the fight just completely died in him as the snake coiled so sweetly around his throat and kept biting his shoulders.

_Debt, debt, debt, debt, a debt of zero septuims, a debt of zero credit, a debt of lies and deceit, zero, zero, zero, zero!_

And like a fool he had fallen for it!

_Debt, debt, debt, don’t talk to the wolf he’ll just use you!_

A wolf was standing there, perhaps the whole time, staring at him with wide yellowed eyes. When his sharp teeth opened, a clear and roughened voice spilled out.

**Don’t lie. Hunt. Feed. Kill. Packing making. Finding a mate. That is what I do. Don’t lie. Snakes lie. Snakes bite and poison!**

The snake bit his ear and he screamed in pain.

_Don’t listen! Debt, debt, debt, debt, he’s a wolf and he’ll gobble a wayward sheep like you right up! Debt, debt, debt, a debt of zero septuims, of zero credit, a debt of zero, zero, zero, zero and yet I still own you!_

The wolf stood on his hind legs and braced his paws on his stomach, staring at him eye to eye.

**I don’t own you. I don’t bite you. I don’t hold anything over you. You aren’t a wayward sheep. I eat lying snakes.**

“A debt of zero septuims and it still owns me! I’ll never be able to pay it off!” He cried.

_Debt, debt, debt!_

**I. Eat. Lying. Snakes.**

The wolf came at his throat and bit down into the coils of the snake, biting deep and ripping the snake off of him, freeing him of the collar. He watched as the wolf chewed the snake to grisly bits. Bits of scales, blood and poison ran between his teeth as the wolf looked up to him again.

**I don’t own you.**

* * *

When his mind surfaced, he found Farkas hovering over him. It seemed that the man had meant to put him into his bed and take the chair, having already taken his armor off and plied three blankets atop of him and stoked the fireplace to keep him warm for the night.

But that was all in the back of his mind.

He only thought about Farkas’ yellow eyes and how they reminded him of the wolf… and leaned up to curl his arms around the back of Farkas’ head as he pulled the surprised man down into a kiss.


	19. Wolves and Joinings-(m/m smut)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: M!Dragonborn/Farkas. Elf ear teasing, handjobs, oral sex, anal fingering, anal sex, slight size difference.

It was while his clothing was still on, that he had begrudgingly decided that Farkas was better in bed then Bryn was.

Bryn had a habit of immediately going for his weak spots and groping. It was common place for his ears to get thoroughly tormented while his ass was getting groped. If his skin was extra prickleish or ticklish when it happened, then it would be painful for the first few moments before natural sensitivity won out. Also, due to leanness, he never really had much of an ass. Sure, thieving and exercising gave him a neat, compact one that was pleasant enough, but not something you wanted to try and bury your fingers in. If Bryn tried to dig his fingers in, he hit bone quickly and often left bruises on the frail skin.

Farkas just started with some chaste kissing, rubbing large and thickly calloused fingers across his cheeks and through his hair. He waited for his ears to get touched, skin prickling as he braced for it, but Farkas just kept kissing him. Those fingers gently worked through his hairs, brushed over his features. It was… gentle, relaxing. He did not feel like he was being pressured into sex, or cornered like a trapped animal.

After his nightmare, it was what he needed.

He pressed himself flush against Farkas’ warm body, leeching from the heat of the man. The blunt man’s big hands slide down the sides of his face to the sides of his neck, brushing against the delicate line where skin transitioned to scales. Downward they kept traveling, moving to his upper chest where he felt the heat sink in, making his lungs tingly oddly. Or maybe it was the shortness of breath because he refused to part from the man’s mouth?

He finally pried himself away from Farkas’ mouth, positively flushed with excitement. Farkas took to kiss his face as he caught his breath, pressing warm and slightly rough lips to his cheeks, eyelids, chin, nose, sometimes brushing against his breathless mouth. The hands on his chest slid down to his sides, thumbs circling against the skin through his shirt, just resting there as Farkas kissed his panting mouth.

“Are you good?” The blunt man rumbled.

Well that was a new one as well. Was sex supposed to be this gentle and reassuring? Or was it just the big man?

“Um, yeah,” He managed “Just…”

“Want to stop?” Farkas asked, looking genuinely concerned. His heavy Nordic brow was charmingly furrowed, those yellow, wolf like eyes taking in his flushed face.

“No, no,” He said quickly, hooking his arms around Farkas’ thick neck as though he could keep the blunt man with his meager strength “Just nervous… I’ve only ever slept with one guy before and you’re… uh… a lot better than him already.”

“Oh,” Farkas said simply.

The big man slid his hands down and then up, catching the edge of his shirt and pulling it up. He willingly lifted his arms, letting the fabric slid ticklishly close to the skin and ruffled his hair before it was tugged off and laid aside. 

He watched Farkas’ yellow eyes looked over his chest, the scales that probably looked different from the last time that he had seen them. The blunt man’s mouth found the patch of scales on the center of his chest. They had used to be yellow and yellow-green, barely visible unless someone was close. Now there were yellow and yellow-green that swept out into darker greens and blues, spanning over most of the center of his chest now, covering most of his pectorals and upper stomach.

Farkas kissed the center of his chest, brushing against the thin scales and the sensitive skin underneath. He found himself shivering underneath the gentle attention.

Thick fingers hooked in his trouser band and tugged it to bring his gaze down. He gnawed on his lower lip as he saw the definite lump of a growing erection in his pants, shifting agonizingly in his breechcloth.

“Can I take these off?” Farkas asked with a roughness to his voice.

His gaze snapped up to meet needy yellow pupils. He puffed up his cheeks and huffed at the man.

“Hey, you take a turn too,” He gruffed, grabbing fistfuls of the back of Farkas’ shirt and tugging it up pointedly.

Farkas wordlessly lifted his arms up, letting him struggle to tug the simple tunic shirt over the gross muscularity of Farkas’ chest.

Farkas’ had a rather muscular chest, not that he knew any beefy warrior Nords enough to see them half naked. Bryn was decently muscular from simple blood, but a thief and thus, did not need the muscularity that Farkas would need. So the warrior the carved muscles of both a warrior and fit Nord, dusted with dark hair and marked with the occasional scars. When he had pulled the fabric off the man’s thick arms, he laid it with his shirt before admiring the man for a second. Wow, if he did not have a thing for muscles, he sure did now…

“You’re ears are pointy and long,” Farkas said bluntly, cupping the sides of his face, thick fingers brushing against the sides of the base of his ears and making him shiver.

“Yeah, I do have a bit of elf in me, despite the scales,” He said.

“Do you feel anything in them?” Farkas asked, looking genuine about his curiosity.

“Yeah, real sensitive, cause of our hearing,” He explained, reaching up to mirror the big man, feeling his beard tickle his palms. The big man leaned to the side and nibbled softly on the side of his thumb.

“Can I touch?” Farkas asked, leaning back.

“Um…yeah just…” He mumbled, nibbling on his lip “Just be careful, please?”

Farkas encouraged his head closer, fingers starting with their gentle ministration at the base of his ear and earlobe. The calloused fingertips brushed against the thicker and sturdier base of his ear, meant to support his larger ears. They brushed further up, along the slightly ticklish backside of his ears, stopping just before reaching the tips and just softly circling the skin just underneath.

He shuddered slightly from the sensitive skin being taunted, absently petting the man’s shoulders as the skin prickled with sensitivity. Farkas frowned at him, looking concerned.

“You okay?” The blunt man asked.

“Y-yeah, j-just sensitive,” He said.

Farkas leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth, hands sliding down and away from his ears, leaving them be. His hands traveled downwards till, calluses sliding along Elven skin and scales. When his hands reached his thin hips, Farkas pulled him a bit forward until the lump in his pants brushed against the one forming in the blunt man’s pants. He gasped, rocking his hips once to press them against each other, hearing a deep growl rumble in Farkas’ throat.

He rocked his hips again, dragging the motion out to draw another growl out of the man. He flushed as the want built up that much more from the primal sound, gnawing his lip softly as he rocked his hips again and again. The hands on his hips tightened ever so slightly, Farkas’ chin hitting his collarbone as he looked down at where they were grinding and growling and grunting.

The blunt man caught his mouth in a kiss, desperately pressing their lips together, letting out gruff little grunts and growls. He whimpered against the man’s needy mouth, grinding his hips down even as a warm tongue licked his lips. He parted them willingly, letting Farkas taste his mouth and letting him taste the blunt man’s. Farkas’ mouth tasted faintly of mead, slowly mixing with the ever present herbal taste of his own with the faint taste of ale from his mixed drink.

Farkas nipped his lower lip, fingers hooking into his trousers again.

“Can I?” He gruffed out.

“Yeah,” He panted against the man’s mouth.

His trousers were pulled off, forcing him to pry his pelvis away from Farkas’ for a moment before his scaly legs were freed from the cloth and he could plaster himself to Farkas’ warm body. He hooked his arms around the man’s thick neck and really dove into the kiss, tangle his tongue with Farkas’, feeling drool drip out one of their mouths and start dripping down his chin and onto his chest. Farkas seemed just as eager, returning the fervor in turn as calloused fingers trailed over his exposed thighs and legs, taking in his skin, thin scales and thick scales.

“Farkas,” He whimpered.

Farkas’ fingers slid up just a bit, just inside his breechcloth, making his skin shudder.

“H-hey, let me… do something,” He panted against Farkas’ mouth, get out of Farkas’ hands and getting down onto his stomach.

“Hey,” Farkas said.

He unthreaded the front of Farkas’ trousers and pried them open, letting the tented breechcloth push further outwards. He stroked the tented cloth, hearing Farkas suck in a breath.

“Stop,” Farkas gruffed.

He looked up at the man, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“…Are you seriously telling me that you don’t want me to suck you off?” He asked.

“Your mouth is small,” Farkas said bluntly.

He was encouraged up, going willing if Farkas was truly against it. Farkas caught his mouth in a kiss, cupping his erection through his breechcloth, grinding the heel of his palm into it, making him gasp and moan against the man’s mouth. Feeling some bit of snark inside of him, he reached down and slid his fingers into Farkas’ breechcloth to grab his dick and-

Breaking away immediately, he looked down at the… _thing_ he had in his hands.

“Nine above!” He hissed.

Farkas burned brightly, rolling his hips minutely to move the thick erection in his hands.

“…Does your diet consist of nothing but meat and potatoes?” He asked, stroking the man slowly regardless, watching his face get redder and redder.

Farkas thrusted up into his hand, rocking his hips, trying to get more stimulation out of the circle of his fingers. He let the man thrust into his hand for a moment, before pulling away to give his palm a few licks and then grabbed him again, the movement now easier. Farkas grunted, panting hotly as he worked his hips.

It was actually… kind of fun to watch the big man get reduced to a writhing mess, watching his reactions as he tightened his fingers, or used his nails to tug at the slowly receding foreskin, smearing the white beads of precum over the ruddy head. He actually started palming himself though his breechcloth, getting aroused as he watched Farkas desperately rut into his hand.

“Stop,”

He pulled his fingers away, watching Farkas’ red face as the man straightened up. Farkas grabbed his hips and pulled him close, kissing him roughly for a moment before his breechcloth was being pulled down, letting his partial erection free.

“Hope you weren’t expecting an Argonian dick,” He chuckled as Farkas wetted his hand with spit and wrapped his large and calloused fingers around his prick. He shuddered and let out a soft moan as the blunt man’s calluses scrapped over sensitive skin and encouraged it to harden with more arousal.

He thrusted into the man’s hand, panting and moaning as he did, feeling the jolts of pleasure run through him and feeling the pressure in his pelvis get tighter and hotter in his lower pelvis. Farkas kissed him again, licking his lips before delving in and tasting his mouth. He shuddered again, working his hips and groaning appreciatively when Farkas tightened his fingers.

“E-ease up, unless you want a mess on your hand,” He panted.

Farkas thankfully let up, pressing his sticky to his scaly chest and pressing forward to encourage him on his back. He rested his head back on the pillows, watching Farkas get up to quickly dig out a small jar of something out of a wardrobe and get back on the bed. Farkas set the jar on the ground after getting his fingers coated in something that looked thicker and lighter colored then oil, before nudging his legs open with his free hand, enough that the blunt man could get his broad shoulder between them. Farkas gently took a hold of the base of his cock in his hand before leaning forward to kiss the rose gold head.

He let out an admittedly weak sound, going dark hearing it with his own ears, especially when Farkas let out a rather dark and deep growl afterwards. His dark nails found Farkas’ hair, threading into it as the man ran his rough lips and gentle tongue up and down the length of his cock. He rolled his head back, digging into the pillow, hips tensing up with the need to rut against the mouth but not wanting to push the warrior. His teeth found his lip as Farkas took the head into his mouth and started softly sucking.

It was as he was looking up at the ceiling that he felt slick fingers prodding his arse. He knew what was coming and tried to keep himself relaxed, feeling a slick finger rubbing against that knot of muscle. He sucked in a harsh breath as the rubbing turned into pushing and then entering him. Farkas’ fingers were thicker then Brynjolf’s, a bit rougher, so there was a very small sting as Farkas worked his finger in and out of him, trying to loosen him up.

The first knuckle, the second knuckle and then all the way to the base, in and out until it was easy to work out, Farkas worked that finger in and out of him until another finger pressed against him, rubbing against the muscle and then wriggling in besides him. At the same time, Farkas took even more into his mouth, sucking a bit harder and making him gasp. That second finger really stretched him and stung more, but he gritted his teeth, focusing on keeping himself from clenching up and only making it hurt worse.

Farkas pulled his fingers free for a moment and then returned slicker, making it easier and sting less. He lovelingly petted the man’s head as he watched him slowly work his prick over with his mouth.

“F-farkas,” He whined.

Farkas twisted his fingers around, tormenting a sensitive spot inside of him, but mainly focusing on stretching him open. The blunt man seemed rather intent on making sure that he was not hurt. Was it normal for sex to be like this? He was thinking that Farkas was a lot nicer then Bryn…

“Relax,” Farkas growled out.

He had half a second to process the heavy, growled out words before a third finger was wriggling inside of him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the definite sting of muscles and skin being stretched too far. His nails found Farkas’ scalp as his thighs tensed and he clenched reflexively to try and push the fingers out. That only made the sting worse.

“Ow, ow, ow,” He whimpered.

Farkas moved his head, and then swallowed him all the way to the base. He sucked in a harsh breath as Farkas sucked hard, mind ignoring the stinging pain as pleasure took forethought. Farkas’ brilliant yellow eyes looked up at him, pupils narrowed more than usual, and growled around him.

“Fuck, fuck,” He whimpered, feeling himself get closer and closer.

Farkas worked his fingers, easing through the resistance of his insides slowly and gently, trying to keep him relaxed enough to prevent damage. He breathed out his nose and in through his mouth, petting Farkas’ head as the man continued to suck him off and fuck him with his thick fingers. Spreading him open, spearing him wide, getting him ready.

When those three fingers slid up to the base knuckle with relative ease, they left him, and the delightful mouth on his cock left him as well. He watched breathlessly as Farkas leaned down to gather more of the creamy substance on his fingers before sitting up and coating his thick erection in the stuff. He swallowed thickly at the thought of being fucked by him.

“How do you want it?” Farkas gruffed, grabbing his thighs and hoisting them into the crook of his arms. Their cocks brushed against each other momentarily, such a smooth slide since their cocks were slick, and he had to take a moment to suck in an excited breath from the shivery sensation.

“I-I not a blushing virgin,” He panted, grinding hips up to grind them against each other “I’m fine like this… just go slow, you brute.”

Farkas took himself in hand, using his other to hold him open. He felt a solid nudge, and then felt himself getting spread open. Luckily, Farkas’ gentle foreplay helped, and it did not sting that much as Farkas slowly pushed into him, using one hand to guide, and the other to rub his stomach to keep him calm. He watched the man focus on going slowly, filling himself get filled up until he was gasping because _damn._

“S-shit,” He rasped out when Farkas had hilted inside of him, hunching over to pepper his face, neck and shoulders with kisses “I-I didn’t kn-know all Nords were built like this.”

Farkas sucked a mark on his neck, nibbling on it to further imprint it into the skin. He clenched as he felt Farkas rock his hips, pressing further inside of him and getting a growl out of the blunt man. His legs locked around the man’s waist, tail catching and circling his leg as he stroked Farkas’ head as the man eagerly marked up his skin, stopping to grind his teeth against the scales that were simply fantastic for no reason.

“Farkas,” He moaned into the man’s ear when he stopped to nibble on his earlobe. Farkas growled low and loud before getting a grip on his hips. He braced himself as he felt Farkas slid out, dragging against the sensitive spot inside of him, and then snapping into him.

He really moaned at that, oh so enjoying the feeling of Farkas’ girth leaving him, dragging against the magical spot inside of him, and even thrusting back into him, filling him back up and sometimes hitting the spot inside of him with force. He wrapped his arms around Farkas’ neck and simply held onto him as Farkas slowly but surely started a pace and started to pick it up, going slow at first to get him used to it and then faster and faster as his body gradually loosened up.

Soon he was being practically bounced off of Farkas’ thick, muscular thighs with each thrust, hearing skin smack skin each time he hit thighs again. Farkas was gripping his hips enough to leave bruises against the skin and press into the scales that he hoped would not grow much worse over night. He was easy to bruise as a summer fruit, and if Farkas kept tightening his fingers, then he would squish in the big man’s hands.

The wild thrusting really was doing something for him, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge, especially when Farkas’ mouth wondered to his mouth and started clashing teeth and tongues and his hand wondered to his bouncing cock and started stroking it in time with the thrusts. If only Farkas kept going like that then he would-

Farkas caught his thighs and pressed his legs forward, pinning them against his chest and then hammering inside of him. He clenched up hard and found himself crying out loudly as he spilled onto his chest. He clenched up with sensitivity as Farkas kept thrusting into him, gritting his teeth as he was forced to ride out the tail end of his orgasm.

After a more thrusts, Farkas stalled and let out a small almost whimpering like sound and he felt something warm inside of him. He panted as Farkas panted over him, wiping sweat and hair from his face.

“Nine above,” He panted.

Farkas grabbed his hips softly, gingerly touching the bruises already blossoming across his skin, and pulled himself out. He gritted his teeth from the weird feeling of the man leaving him. When he pulled out, Farkas gently encouraged him onto his side, tugging the blanket up over both of them and sliding an arm around his waist.

“How’d ya know I liked snuggling after sex?” He chuckled softly, eyes already closing from exhaustion.

Farkas pressed kiss after kiss to the back of his neck, still doing so as his eyes closed and his tired mind slipped into dreamland. Dreamland where a large wolf kept him safe from hissing snakes and he finally felt safe and guarded.


	20. Lies Upon Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spiraling towards the end, how will things turn out for the cross-breed nameless thief and his unknown future?

He wanted to linger in Farkas’ bed.

He wanted to linger, pressed tight against the big Nord, leeching off his warmth and enjoying the thick and muscular arms wrapped around him. He wanted to keep smelling the warm skin, the smell of leather, the smell of fur, the scent of the man’s sweat and the lingering stench of their lovemaking. He wanted to keep buried underneath fur and not get up, just languidly keep pressed against the man, and just enjoy his relaxed state for the rest of the day.

He would have loved kissing the man awake, watching those wolf like eyes cracking open to greet him. He would have loved to laze away the morning in bed with the man, touching him chastely, running his fingers through his hair and over his warm skin. He would have loved to been chastely touched in turn, for Farkas to touch him like his skin was not a freakish mess and just skin to be cherished and loved wholly, to actually feel loved without unpleasant things attached.

But he knew better…

He pulled himself away from Farkas, despite his jelly knees and wobbling legs, the bruises against his hips and the tenderness of his arse, and picked his clothing up off the end of the bed and dressed himself. The course fabric felt so much worse than the warm fur, the black leather felt alien and cold and made his skin prickle. His resolve was tested as he kept getting dressed despite the goose bumps peppering his odd skin and this oily and cold feeling in his stomach. He found his armor on the dresser, probably from where Farkas took it off of him.

He wanted to go back to bed. He wanted to take off this cold armor and clothing and crawl back into bed when he was sure it was warm and comfortable. He was sure that the warrior would curl around him again…

Weird how attached he was to the blunt man already...

He managed to strap on his boots despite everything in him wanting to lingering and go back to bed. He hooked his bowstring across his chest, letting the long Dwarvish shaft hang from the taunt string on his shoulder, before he walked over to the still slumbering Nord still curled underneath the furs. The top of the man’s hair was visible, so he gently pried the blanket away from his head and face. Farkas’ eyes twitched as he leaned over to press a kiss to Farkas’ stubbly cheek.

“Hmm? Why are you leaving?” Farkas rumbled.

“I sadly have things that need to get done… well besides you do me of course,” He said quietly, dragging hair behind the man’s ear so he could press another kiss to the man’s temple “So I’ve got to leave. Trust me, I don’t want to, but they need to get done.”

Farkas turned his head, one yellow eye cracking open and he took the opportunity to kiss the Nord’s sleepy mouth.

“I’m coming back though, bet your big Nord ass that I will, the second I get this stuff done,” He promised breathlessly against the man’s mouth.

“Hmm, sounds good,” Farkas rumbled.

He languidly and slowly kissed the man for several moments, so reluctant to remove himself from the warmth and the rough skin. 

But he thought about the guild and his nightmare about a snake that he owed money and his resolve to leave almost broke. The thought that the very reason that his whole life turned upside down was all a lie and… and he felt like crying. All those odd feelings that were budding for Bryn… his friends being in danger… the faceless thief that he killed… all for nothing…

When he pulled away, he steeled himself. Bryn would not do that. He was a snake, but a snake that has a kernel of respect and trust between them, so he would have fussed up if it was a lie… he told him that just to get himself away from the Nord that he wanted to cling too like a drowning man to a piece of straw.

He pulled away, offering Farkas a faded smile that was ragged on the edges, before pulling his hood up and leaving the room.

* * *

 

His mind was in turmoil his entire ride back to Riften.

He kept thinking about the dream, of the wolf saving him from the snake that kept biting him and whispering about a fake debt keeping him collared, as the carriage rocked with the movement of the horse.

Farkas had to be the wolf. Those unique yellow eyes of his were those of wolf, and such a massive and muscular hairy bulk of a man that he seemed to just associate the man with the noble creature. Not to mention, the base and honest nature of his seemed so much like a wild animal, base needs and no need for drama and lies.

But the snake… who could be keeping him… collared… with… a… debt…

… _ **No**_ …

* * *

 

“Nameless, glad to see you again,” Sapphire said as he stormed in.

“Yeah, yeah, where’s that ginger bastard?” He asked.

“Haven’t heard that one in months,” Sapphire said, cocking an elegant eyebrow at him as blue eyes traced his figure “What’d he do to earn your ire?”

“Just tell me,” He pressed, baring sharp teeth at her.

“Nameless!”

Brynjolf appeared from further in the guild, grinning broadly and warmly at him. But he only sneered at him angrily, glaring daggers and poison at the man until the smile faltered and shattered completely. Brynjolf watched him with careful eyes as he stood there, watching him seethe.

“What’s wrong, Nameless?” Brynjolf asked.

“How much of my debt is left?” He demanded.

“Huh?” Brynjolf asked stupidly.

“ **How much of my fucking debt is left?** ” He asked, his voice causing the walls to shake and the other thieves to take offensive stances from the sudden change. All eyes landed on him as he stalked towards Brynjolf with his dragon teeth bared and eyes stabbing deep into the man.

“I’ve paid _fucking thousands_ to the guild to pay off this fucking debt,” He raged “And thinking about it, how can it be that much? If there was really that amount of debt, you would have done something much worse with the man I killed.”

Brynjolf started backing off from him, eyes scared as the ginger thief crept backwards and away from his rage.

“Thousands in debt? I’ve seen what happens to those people. They get sold into slavery, into a brothel, they get organs and limbs removed, they flee the country,” He hissed, eyes slitting as he took the man’s fear in “I’ve never heard of one fucking person going into a guild to slowly pay it off with small grabs.”

“H-He was a friend,” Brynjolf said lamely.

“FUCK THAT!” He roared, making the Cistern shake wildly and ripping screams and shouts of surprise and fear out of their terrified audience.

He was spitting anger and fear and hatred and rage and sadness and the feeling of being betrayed all in once until his mouth felt like it was filled with poisonous blackness. He looked Brynjolf right in the eye as he finally asked the question that had been low key haunting his mind ever since he had been pulled from the Warrens in the first place.

**_“WAS THERE EVEN A DEBT TO BEGIN WITH?!”_ **

“Nameless!”

He turned heel to glare darkly at Mercer. For once, the greasy and creepy man actually flinched and looked at least slightly perturbed by his anger, rather than the other way around like it would have been months ago. But the creepy man stood fast as Brynjolf fell on his ass and crawled away from him. He let the ginger bastard go, opting to deal with him another day then start a fight with the guild master.

“Mercer,” He growled, none too kindly, forgoing formal titles.

“…I’m going to separate you and Brynjolf for a bit,” Mercer rumbled, “Besides, we’ve had a bit of a breakthrough with this fake trying to hurt the guild.”

“Who said I give a fuck about this shitty guild?” He hissed, this time making Mercer lift his arms to protect his face, the force of his voice once again shaking the walls of the Cistern.

“I didn’t a damn thing about you caring about our shitty little guild, but you’re here now, so do your damn job,” Mercer grunted, steeling himself but the tell tales signs of fear still causing his hands to shake “Follow me, we’re going on a road trip and _after_ you can flay Brynjolf’s ginger hide, yeah?”

* * *

Truthfully, he had not thought about it until he remembered how Cosnach had taken up sex work just to make ends meet and the dream that he had had.

The beggars, most of them were beggars because of attempts to pay off debts. Most of them were debt free, having sold everything they had to pay off every coin, or had linger debt that no one bothered with because they wanted nothing to do with the dirty beggars of Markarth’s streets. He remembered Cairine saying once that she was at one point comfortable, until her health problems came back and she quickly sunk into debt with the apothecary.

He remembered one beggar that snuck out to gamble at night when he was a child. He only remembered him because the man was mean to him and he had been happy when he was gone. The man snuck out night after night to gamble, and accumulated such a massive debt that mysterious men raided the Warrens one night to drag him away and they never saw him again. Cosnach said that they took him out of the city, suggesting that he was killed or sold off to a slaver or a brothel. Such debt could not be excused or ever worked off, Cosnach had said.

No one would logically let such debt accumulate before the value of the life started shrinking. They would be viewed less as a person and more as their debt. Less as people and more as money that could be in pocket.

He could not believe that he did not think about it before. How many thousands of stolen goods did he ship back to the guild while he was training to be Dovahkiin? How many hundreds had he made the guild while with them? It had to be almost a hundred thousand septuims at this point that he had paid. What kind of man could even conceivably accumulate that much in one life without it having been addressed?

He should have seen it sooner…

_**The debt was a lie…** _

Joining the guild, meeting all the thieves, all these skills that his hands and body knew, sex with Brynjolf, feelings for Brynjolf, all this time that he thought that he was happy…

_**LIES?!** _

…If it was all lies then he did not need to stick around then?

He would be depressed for some time, in denial about all that was taken from him in these months, angry, spite on the names of all those that had wronged him. Then he would rub the tears away from his eyes and move on with his life.

Returning to Markarth was out of the question. To return to that place _and_ face Cosnach… his heart could not handle it. But… he had the money now… h-he could move Cosnach to Whiterun and into that house for sale like they had wanted too months ago, like they had dreamed about. They could do honest work for the Companions for a living and mail money back to the beggars if they needed it. He could make it work with Farkas, actually making something honest and healthy for him and the big, blunt Nord. Not a relationship built on a lie like now.

Long ago his dream was not to starve, just to make it another day. Now it was to break away from his toxic environment and to a healthier one.

Strange how things changed.


	21. Death?-(slight gore)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Some blood, someone suffering from poison.
> 
> He wanted it to be done and over, but that never happens for the nameless ex-thief.

Despite having been tempered and put through the wringer while he was training with Delphine, his skin and scales becoming thicker and more resilient, his endurance overall adjusted and having lived in the colder parts of Skyrim for well over a year now, he still found his lizard teeth chattering underneath the thick layers he had bulked up.

Snow fell on the large hood that protected his face from most of the frozen precipitation as it fell on him, puffs of his warm breath billowing around his head as he trudged through the snow after Mercer. Now that he thought about it, he did not remember what race Mercer was that made him so easily stomp through the blizzard unhindered. Then again, whatever race he was had to have more natural cold resistance then either side of his mutt breeding.

When he got back, scratch that, when he made his way back to the Companions, he was going to drag Farkas by his armor to a bed so he could leech off of the Nord’s big, burly warm body.

“How much further?” He called out over the powerful winds.

Mercer ignored him like usual, stomping ahead. He just adjusted his hood and kept walking as well. He was hoping that recovering from whatever this trek would earn him would not put him out of commission too long. He really wanted to start straightening out his life and wanted to immediately work on getting Cosnach to Whiterun and start shipping out money to the other beggars back in Markarth. Maybe it would fix his gods awful luck that way.

Eventually jagged and ancient stones started to appear, covered in a month’s worth of snow, but definitely there. In the distance he saw the tip of what had to be a buried ancient Nord structure. Looked like the place that this Karliah that Mercer spoke about was. Hopefully that meant that they would soon get out of the blizzard, because he was feeling his skin and scales starting to prickle with frostbite.

Mercer motioned for him to move behind a pillar close to the entrance, getting a break from the wind.

“Good, we’re here,” Mercer grouched as they ducked a pillar “Stay here while I scout out the area.”

Mercer ducked out from pillar and scurried off towards the structure. He ducked down further behind the pillar and curled up as he cupped his hands together to summon a small flame to heat some parts of his body. Thankfully, anyone could learn a bit of magic so despite his fucked up blood, he could at least learn a few tricks for survival. Wait… Altmer blood promoted magical talent… so he had a slight penchant for magic… ugh, trying to figure out what he inherited from who just gave me a stress headache.

While he waited he melted the snow around him and managed to find some twigs that only need a few moments before they burned. With a new fire going, he tugged the thick scarf protected the lower half of his face down quick enough to get one of his potions down. After half an hour, he took from dried rations from his bag and nibbled on them. After an hour he took a dagger out and sharpened the talons that had grown so quickly since their trim. After two hours he had packed the snow down hard around him in a small shelter and was perfectly warm and toasty.

After three hours, Mercer knocked on his little shelter and he reluctantly crawled out into the bitter cold again.

“I’ve scouted the ruins and I’m certain that Karliah is still inside,” Mercer growled out.

“You saw her?” He asked, pulling his hood and scarf back up.

“No,” Mercer deadpanned, “I found her horse. Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of it… she won’t be using it to escape.”

“Big bad Mercer killing a horse, how scary,” He snarked, clicking his teeth together.

“Bastard, let’s get moving, I want to catch her inside while she’s distracted. Take the lead if you’re done running your mouth,” Mercer barked, swatting his arm.

“Yeah, yeah, understood,” He quipped, taking out his bow and heading towards the entrance with Mercer at his back.

“Just make certain you keep your eyes open. Karliah is sharp as a blade,” Mercer shot at his back.

“Blades can also be dulled or broken, Mercer,” He said as they moved, “So this bitch can’t be that much of a problem.”

“Well, the last thing I need is you blundering into a trap and warning her that we’re here.”

Not throwing a quip back, he stepped up the sides of the ancient structure and then dropped down, ignoring the shady looking steps that lead down. Straightening himself up, he looked for the door, finding it marked with relatively fresh blood. Dipping his fingers in it, it felt like jelly rather than liquid and stuck to his fingers.

“They say that these ancient Nordic burial mounds are sometimes impenetrable,” Mercer said as he descended down the steps on his own time, “This one doesn’t look too difficult. Quite simply, I don’t know what the fuss is about these locks. All it takes is a bit of a know-how and a lot of skill.”

Mercer finally made his way down as he stood there with his hands crossed over his chest, tapping his foot as Mercer bent down and slipped his lock picking tools out of his gauntlets. The guild master fiddled and grumbled for a minute before there was a grinding click. Putting away his tools, Mercer stood up and stepped back as he motioned his forward.

“Too kind of you,” He quipped, going to the stone doors and shoving them open.

Being outside in the blinding whiteness of the snow, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw a staircase leading down to a turn with a few lit candles sitting in the rusty and ancient candle holders. There was the ancient groaning and rumbling of the stone, but his ears heard nothing coming from further in.

“Karliah’s been through here,” Mercer said behind him, closing the doors, “What does she expect to find?”

“A couple of stiffs and my scaly ass,” He laughed as he lightly stepped down the stairs.

Further in lead to an empty room that had recently lit alter fires. He could still smell the oil that had been used to ignite them. Grabbing an arrow from the quiver on his back, he carefully half notched it as he slinked forward.

“The stench here,” Mercer muttered quietly, “This place smells like death. Be on your guard.”

“No shit,” He muttered back.

Further in led to an alter room and two sealed coffins. There was a chest that looked dusty and unlooted, but he knew what sealed coffins meant in a Nord dungeon like this one. Notching an arrow, he pulled his arms back, he let his arrow fly and hit the coffin with a sharp _tink!_. The coffin rattled, and then the lid fell off and landed with a ominous thud. The second coffin followed suit as a Drauger dressed in rags stumbled out with a rusty axe in hand.

Before the lid of the second coffin even hit the ground, the first Drauger fell with an arrow between the eyes. For the second, he ducked inside the room enough to point blank shoot the second Drauger in the side of the head. Mercer nodded his silent and quick kills as he stepped forward to claim the chest. Some few coins and a gem richer, he advanced with another arrow notched.

In the next room were a lot of coffins, but also a lot of dead Drauger on the ground.

“Pull the chain over there, and watch out for the spies. Looks like Karliah reset all the traps,” Mercer warned.

Sneaking over to the gate, mindful if the dead were not truly dead, he waited for Mercer to squat down next to him before reaching behind him and pulling the rusty length of chain. There was a horrendous screech and the spiked wall trap swung close, a mere inch or so from the tip of his nose, scattering a number of miscellaneous things on the ground, before dragging itself back into place as the gate opened.

Creeping onwards with his creepy shadow, they saw more lit candles as they descended down another length of stairs. At the bottom, he swiftly put two arrows into a Drauger and downed them before moving forward. Down another hallway, there was a locked door and a stash of some rather potent potions on the other side that got added to his bag, probably Karliah keeping some potions aside for herself, but not anymore.

Another couple of turns and he saw a Drauger shambling mindless in a different room, but was quickly rectified with an arrow between the eyes. Another Drauger, hearing something, shambled into view and quickly joined their friend in a second death. Around another bend was a rather powerful looking Drauger with a buddy. Mercer actually stepped forward to swing his enchanted blade at the stronger one while he quickly dispatched the weaker one and then filled the other’s dusty joints with arrows.

There were several more Drauger to fight, all dealt with quietly and quickly between Mercer’s sword and his arrows. When all the dead creatures had embraced death a second time, they moved on through a quick to open gate and then down another hallway. The hallway split between a room with bone chimes and a door that probably lead further into the dungeon and closed to Karliah.

Wanting to see if there was any loot, he stepped into the room with the bones chimes.

“Bone chimes… clever. Rigged to wake the Drauger I’d bet. Don’t blunder into any of them,” Mercer muttered behind him as he slunk further to the ground and crawling on his hands and tip-toes to slink underneath the chimes. Thankfully he had forgo his usual backpack for his many pouches filled with things, so it was easy to make it to the other side of the room and pull the switch to open the gate.

Not a single Drauger stirred, he straightened up a bit and made his way down a flight of stairs and down another hallway that lead to a large room filled with a lot of very alert and very angry Drauger.

More than a dozen or two arrows later and a dead blood caked sword later, the room was cleared of dead men. He stepped inside, made sure that there were only truly dead men, and then made his way up a flight of stairs. There were a few skeevers, but Mercer quickly dispatched them, muttering about ‘damned dirty rats’ as he scrapped the dead blood and fresh rat blood off on a wall.

Further up and passed a caged in walkway and down further to another door.

“Karliah always was a nimble minx… slipping passed these Drauger must be child’s play for her,” Mercer grumbled as he nudged the door open with his elbow.

Just past the door were walls of dead in cut out spaces in the stone. Not wanting to even test it, he put arrows into every corpse and waited before he advanced. When not a body stirred, he cautiously kept going to the bend before seeing more walls of dead and repeating. Dead twice over, he crept around the bend and put an arrow into a two wondering Drauger before claiming the loot of a chest.

After looking around for a bit, he found a switch and a door with a few jars braced against it. Standing out of the way, he pulled the switch and waited for the jars to land on a trap switch. After waiting for the poisoned arrows to stop, he stepped through and went through yet another hallway.

“We’re on the right track. She’s been through here as well.”

“Who else lit all these fucking candles and alter fires?” He sighed as he put an arrow through the back of the neck of a wondering Drauger and then two more through the knees.

More stairs, more fires, a dead Drauger and then finally there was a set of doors.

“The door up ahead… looks perfect for hiding an ambush. Be ready.”

Kicking open the door, he ducked down low and just started to fire arrows as Mercer went in swinging his sword. After dispatched the first few Drauger, something in ragged robes with gold bits joined the fight.

“Dragon Priest!” He called out, firing arrows into the damned nuisance.

After a few moments of actually strenuous combat, the priest finally died. Unfortunately, it did not have a mask like a few of the others that he had faced before, and he really did not feel like scooping up some of the dust, so they moved on. He stopped by the Word Wall and quickly absorbed the knowledge from it, his mind forming ‘Disarm’ from the no longer foreign language.

“This fucking thing is running on forever,” He groaned as he pulled yet another switch to yet another gate.

Down the hallway was an ancient riddle door… but he had not found a dragonclaw…

“Ah, it’s one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors. How quaint,” Mercer drawled out, approaching the door and looking at the puzzle rings, “Without the matching claw, they’re normally impossible to open. And since I’m certain Karliah did away with it, we’re on our own.”

“Mighty Mercer though knows a way, right?” He deadpanned, clucking his tongue.

“Fortunately,” Mercer growled, glaring at him, “These doors have a weakness if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple, really.”

“And you’re going to be a cock tease and not tell me,” He grouched.

Mercer stabbed into the rings with his tools, messing around with them until something clinked and the rings adjusted themselves. Putting his tools away, Mercer stood up and stood back from the door as it opened.

“Karliah’s close, I’m certain of it. Now let’s get moving,” Mercer snapped.

“Yeah, yeah,” He said, stepping into the room, “You giant fucking phall-!”

An arrow hit his shoulder, striking through his armor like a hot knife through the frozen snow. He reached for his bow and then felt everything go numb. His arms dropped as his body stiffened and lurched over. Drool dripped out of his mouth as his legs, the last to go numb, struggled to hold him up and then failed. The cold, hard stone floor hit the side of his face with a firm crack, shoot pain blossoming out of numbness as his lungs seized and air stopped coming in his body.

Mercer ignored him, walking past him and further into the room. His eyes managed to roll along with him until he saw a slender and leather armored creature with a bow stalking forward. Ruby red eyes burned in the dim light.

“Do you honestly think that your arrow will reach me before my blades finds your heart?” Mercer growled like a predator.

“Give me a reason to try,” The figure, Karliah probably, said softly.

His swollen tongue rolled out of his woolen mouth, pressing against the scarf as his chest burned from the lack of oxygen. Tears spilled out of his paralyzed eyes as he helplessly watched the scene unfold.

“You’re a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired,” Mercer chuckled roughly.

“To ensure an enemy’s defeat, you must first undermine his allies,” Karliah said flatly, “It was the first lesson Gallus taught us.”

“You always were a quick study.”

“Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive.”

“Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way,” Mercer rumbled quietly.

“Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?” Karliah said, a colorful burst of anger lacing into her words.

“Enough of this mindless banter!” Mercer snarled loudly, drawing his sword, “Come, Karliah. It’s time for you and Gallus to become reunited!”

Vomit dribbled out of his mouth as the corners of his vision started to fall off into darkness. An intense burning sensation was running throughout his body as it screamed for oxygen but received none. His teary eyes watched Karliah disappear in a cloud of smoke before vanishing entirely.

“I’m no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise the next time we meet… it will be your undoing.”

Mercer sheathed his blade and then slowly stalked over to him, vision mostly gone. His eyes could only look at Mercer’s boots as the man stood menacingly over him.

“How interesting,” Mercer growled pleased like, “It appears Gallus’ history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you.”

Mercer drew his blade, the crackles of the enchantment not registering in his half dead eyes.

“Farewell. When I tell the guild of your demise and Karliah’s betrayal once again, maybe I’ll come back for your corpse.”

Mercer stepped forward, admired his blade for a moment, and then stabbed into his chest, popping his right lung.

His vision went red and then faded into black.

* * *

When his eyes opened again, a slender figure in armor was holding his limp body up as dribbles of cold coppery blood and vomit escaped his mouth.

“Od…AH VIING!”

Hands clamped onto his mouth, a garbled voice tumbling against his cotton filled ears. Blood leaked out where his hand was holding onto his chest. No oxygen was in his body. Was this death that he had once wished for? Was the afterlife so confusing?

The earth shook underneath him and he was standing, stumbling, moving forward until his bloodied fingers found tough scales and then he was climbing something craggily. His arms wrapped around something and the stone he hugged moved, shifting, turning, wriggling underneath of him like a living creature. Blood freely flowed from his mouth, nose and the opening in his chest. Oxygen refused to enter and everything was fucking numb.

The creature shook and he found himself tumbling, falling, hitting cold hard stone with a harsh crack as his cheekbone broke. Dried out and bleeding lips stuck to cold stone as he laid there. Blood and vomit continued burning his mouth with their awful flavors. Open eyes took in nothing but snow falling.

Strong hands grabbing him, lifting him, curling him up against something strong and stable. A soothing rumble in his deaf ears.

Then darkness.


	22. Nameless Infamy-(safeish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mention of torture/murder.
> 
> And that's the end folks! Sorry about this being a very unexpected and rushed ending, but musey and myself were kind of drained of this and wanted to end it so we could finish up other unfinished products. Eventually there will be a sequel to this, we promise you that, but for now, FIN!
> 
> -Nev

Feeling oh so full of himself, Mercer walked back into his city.

He had siphoned enough gold off of the guild to last him forever, his main adversaries were dealt with and the guild would soon tank without him. There were just a few things he needed to grab and he would be off to get the kid’s corpse. It should have been fine, it was after all left in the cold dungeon. While he could not lug it around forever, he could fuck it once or twice before letting nature take its course. 

A smug grin decorated his face as he slipped into the short side cut that would take him to his house. Oh tonight was a good night!

As he stepped towards the gate, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye and not just something being blown by the wind or someone he knew moving just out of view.

The Talos Shrine that the city had moved back behind the temple so that the elves never saw it… the very elves that had been moved from, one sat there on the shrine like it was not blasphemy.

“Lost, elf?” He growled out. If there was something he hated, it was the elves. Self righteous pricks with their noses stuck up in the air so high they never saw any of the other races. Why one was hanging around the back of his house he was going to find out.

In the low light he did not make out much besides the dark golden skin and the wild golden hair pulled back against the back of his skull. The elf sat there, looking at a small candle that had been lit earlier in the day and left to burn out, fingers sometimes brushing against the softened wax.

“No,” The elf finally said.

When his head turned slightly he saw that his eyes were disturbingly familiar to someone he just killed.

He grabbed the gate, prepared to leap over the fence and run into the safety of his house when a crushing force grabbed his neck and flung him to the ground with bone rattling strength. His mouth impacted the ground hard and he tasted dirt and grass in his mouth as he grunted in pain. When he tried to lift himself onto his arms, a large foot shoved him so easily back down and smashed his face into the dirt again.

“I believe I am right where I need to be,” He heard the elf growl cold like above him. When he looked he saw the elf with orange lizard eyes glaring down at him. But no scales, so who-

“Now, I will be honest,” The elf snarled, hands on his hips, “I am already in a piss poor mood and you are going to suffer for it, but there will be others that suffer it too. Do you know why I am pissed? First I find out that the person I entrusted to watch my son dumped him into the streets and left him for dead.”

Here, the elf started snapping his fingers. The rough material scratched together for a moment before sparks started to appear. For something reason he could feel the magic in the air start pulling towards the stranger, like he was naturally sucking it dry from everywhere around him. A mage of all things wanted to kill him!

“Then I find out that he’s alive! I wept with joy at that, just glad to hear he was alive, but he’s been starving and begging on the street for years and do you imagine the rage I felt?” The elf snapped, a vein bulging in his temple as sparks kept jumping from his fingertips, light up his face. The pure golden sheen of his skin was revealed, uninterrupted by scales, but eyes so similar to Nameless’ that it was eerie.

“That’s not all!” The elf yelled out, the sparks suddenly turning into flames surrounding his hand. The fire raged red and then turned a disturbing purple color. “Then I find out that he’s been dragged from a life as a beggar and forced to be a thief to save his friends! So let’s review! At this point in his life, he’s been left for dead, forced to live the life of a beggar and then forcibly contracted against his will to work as a damned thief!”

For a moment, he actually wanted the guards to come save him. The elf’s yelling should have drawn their attention and he should have been saved from this madman. But they never came, the damn corrupt and dirty bastards, probably paid off by the madman before him! Gods above he really was dead this time and there was no way to escape it.

He was going to die…

“Then I find out that this bastard Nord has been taking advantage of him for months! You’re the fucking guild master for shit’s sake man! You let your members fucking abuse and misuse others?! Oh and don’t think I won’t flail alive the bastard that’s hurt my son, he’s gonna burn!” The elf punctuated his final yell with a kick to his teeth that had him taste blood with the dirt. When he spat out, he saw two glimmers of red stained white on the ground and felt two empty holes in his gums.

The foot on his back dug in deeper, until he felt his spine start to groan with the effort. Not only that, but he felt five sharp points rip through his armor and start prodding his back.

“Now I find out that you tried to kill him! You left him in a cold dungeon to die, you filthy worthless bastard! You left my fucking son to die like a piece of used garbage to be thrown away!” The elf snarled, teeth clenched tight as he glared down at him, “Now you are going to pay for what you have done to him!”

The foot on his back suddenly pushed down with such mighty strength that his spine finally gave and snapped. The sensation immediately started to die off in his legs just as the elf got him moved around to press his burning hand to his left leg.

* * *

While Mikhail finally buried the butchered corpse, he took to checking up on his son just out of view.

The thin, underfed, overworked and too scarred body had been swaddled in soft blankets and pillows, tucked into a cart just for him to sleep in. His son’s sleeping face was mostly covered with a slightly damp cloth to help collect the sweat and keep his fevered skin cool. When he gently pressed his fingertips to his son’s fevered cheek, the skin still felt hot to the touch, but his breathing sounded drastically better then when he had literally fallen off a dragon near their camp.

Gently as he could, he tugged some loose blonde threads from his sweat soaked neck, barely feeling a pulse underneath the skin. But it appeared that his son was in so immediate threat of dying anymore, which was good…

He sniffled and viciously scrubbed his face against his sleeve, trying to keep the tears back. There was no need for tears now, he needed to care for his son, not be miserable over what had been done to him because he put his trust in the wrong people. He hoped that the bastard he had trusted was still in Markarth, because he wanted to violently hurt the man that has started such a miserable life for his treasure.

“My love?”

When he turned to look, Mikhail was cleaning his hands of blood and mud. The big Argonian’s orange eyes flickered between him and their son. He could not help but notice that his love’s scales matched the scales of their son’s skin, dark blues sweeping out into greens, yellows and gold.

“Just… still upset that this all happened,” He admitted, petting his son’s hair gently. As he did, he felt Mikhail take a seat next to him and lean into him, one large lizard hand coming up to lay on their son’s chest through the blankets. “I trusted that no good bastard with raising him and just… there are so many scars on his body, my precious treasure. And hearing that some bastard took advantage of him…”

He felt Mikhail’s muzzle nuzzle into his shoulder, one thick and muscular arm coming around his body to hold him.

“He’s going to hate us… he’s going to think we dumped him onto the streets! He’s going to hate us for everything that happened and I just…”

Mikhail squeezed him hard, shaking him from his depressing thoughts.

“We will explain it all to him,” Mikhail said, “Every little detail, no lies. But even if he hates us, we will always love him, right?”

“I suppose… let’s go flail this ginger bastard Brynyuk or some fucking thing and then head to Markarth so I can blow a man’s guts onto his children’s faces.”

* * *

“Can I see him?”

While he had been swapping his clothes out for fresh ones because his others had been gummy with blood, Mikhail had brought the man that their son had told him about in his fevered throes. As he closed the last button, he saw a decent looking Breton leaning over his son in his cart. The emotion in his face was genuine as far as he could tell and Mikhail was standing over him, so there was nothing to worry about.

“I assume you are Cosnach?” He asked as he stepped out of the caravan cart.

The Breton looked up. His hair looked a bit ragged and there were some tired bags underneath of his eyes, but his eyes were not ‘drunkard’s eyes’ not nearly enough bloodshot veins for that. The man also looked nothing like a beggar. The man’s skin was mostly clean and his armor looked relatively new and well maintained. Perhaps something had happened to the man since he had been separated from his son for so long.

“U-Um, y-yes sir, that’s me,” Cosnach muttered, looking up at him with a strange sort of worry in his eyes.

“You don’t need to worry, I’m not a Thalmor,” He said calmly, “I defected quite spectacularly in fact. Just ask Mikhail here, there were fireworks and everything.”

“It was a beautiful sight,” Mikhail sighed softly.

“I am only worried about my son at this point, and he expressed a dear miss for your company,” He continued, urging the man to join them as they sat down.

Honestly he did not want to stay in Markarth longer than needed, so he had put a few gold pieces into the guards’ hands and convinced them to let them part their caravan outside the gates. They had set up his son’s bed outside to help cool his fever during the late hours. Thankfully they had not unpacked much, so they could leave in only an hour or so.

The man awkwardly sat on a offered crate as Mikhail sat in the grass and he sat in Mikhail’s lap.

“So… you’re his parents?” Cosnach asked softly.

“Yes, is that so hard to believe?” He asked.

“No, y-you’re actually sort of how I imagined them,” Cosnach chuckled, “But… he always thought you abandoned him in the streets to die.”

“I did not,” He firmly growled, making the man tense. Taking a deep breath in, letting it out and easing the tension in his teeth that made him want to bite someone, he addressed the man in a much calmer tone. “I did not, I had entrusted his care to the Sliver-Blood family. They were supposed to raise him until I returned to Skyrim, but you can obviously see that they did not do that.”

“No offense… but how can you approve that,”

“Thankfully I had a firm talk with them and took their written statement that they would take care of him,” He said, whisking said letters from Mikhail when he offered them. The age of the paper would give his words authenticity, as well as the date he had made those greedy bastards sign in case of Oblivion breaking loose. “Trust me, I knew my son would be different and I wanted him to have a proper upbringing regardless.”

Cosnach looked at the papers, obviously believing him just based on the paper’s age. There was a sort of relief in his face and when he looked to his son, he actually looked happy and eager. But then he frowned at his son before turning back to him.

“Can you tell me about him?”

“I don’t see why not, you obviously mean a lot to him,” He said before standing. Mikhail stood as well, pressed a kiss to the back of his neck before going to repack the few things that they had unpacked. “But first…I believe it was a dream of you two to go to Whiterun?”

* * *

Just based from their talking, he knew that his son would hold nothing but hatred for him, thinking that he had left him in the streets to die because he was odd. If only the poor thing knew the truth… but that was why he was taking him to the Companions in Whiterun. He would be where he was happiest with his best friend, and when he recovered, he would have Cosnach give him a letter detailing the reason he had suffered. It would make him even more wrathful than before, but he hoped that one day he could embrace his son and beg his forgiveness for all the misery he had suffered because of his misguided trust.

“So he’s not half Argonian?” Cosnach asked him as they sat in the driver’s seat and he ushered the horses along.

“More like two thirds,” Mikhail said, tucked just behind them and in the caravan to watch their son.

“So that means… you are…?” Cosnach let his question trail off, not wanting to get ahead of himself and say something rude or wrong.

“Yes, I am half,” He said, letting his infamous orange lizard eyes flicker to the man, “Though it does not show in anything besides my eyes and my lowered temperature. Him having an Argonian father gave him much more potent Argonian blood. I was actually surprised that he was not born a full blooded Argonian.”

Truthfully, when he was born mostly Elven, he was relieved. His duel sided blood caused him no end of grief when he was small, always sick and always on death’s doorstep. Only when his Argonian father took him to their ancestral home and fed him the all important Hist sap that all Argonians needed and then his body started to catch up. While he had very little benefits of his Argonian blood, he at least stopped suffering from it.

But to see how much his Argonian blood had just trumped his Elven blood… he hoped that his son would at least not hate him enough that they could get him to Black Marsh and feed him the same sap.

“What brought you back?” Cosnach asked him.

“The same reason I left him in this frozen Oblivion-hole,” He said quite snappishly, “The Thalmor was chasing me for defecting and I had to get them off my tail, but I ended up having to kill them all. It too many years that I hoped that my son was alive, well and knew about me but… things change.”

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s not your fucking fault,” He said, digging his pipe out from underneath his seat. Thankfully he had packed it with his favorite the last time he had smoked, so only a bit of magic and he was breathing in the good stuff.

“You said you wanted me to tell him?” Cosnach asked as they bounced along.

“No, I want you to give me a letter that I will write out for him explaining everything,” He grunted out, smoke escaping his mouth, “I would like you to back it up because I dearly miss my son and would rather he not hate me for the rest of his life.”

“I will… he deserves the truth after all he’s been through.”

* * *

The Companions had questions, lots of them, but they eagerly took his son in. The man he had heard of taking an interest in his son looked almost tearful from seeing him again, so he was not that reluctant to hand him over into his caring hands. Mikhail still squeezed his hand when the big Nord cradled his son, giving him that rock like support that he had become so dependent on.

The letter was passed onto Cosnach, who promised him that it would be delivered.

“I have to ask you though,” Cosnach said when he tried to leave, “What name do I give him?”

“Just Brun,” He said, “I abandoned my birth name and house name and that is all I go by.”

With a final sigh, he let his son go, hopefully for the last time in his life. He wanted to keep his son and nurse him back to health, beg his forgiveness for all that he had suffered and just smother him with affection… but his son needed time. He was going to be handed a lot of information and he would need time with it. In the letter he enclosed where they would stay and hoped that they would be visited, but mostly he just hoped that his son did not hate him.

“Let’s go Mikhail,” He sighed softly.

“Do not worry, my lover,” Mikhail said as the big man took his hand, “He will not hate us. He will need time, but he will not hate us.”

“I hope so,” He sighed.

* * *

Nameless was placed in Farkas’ room, so the big love struck Nord could keep an eye on him. Cosnach was moved to the Whelp quarters and was to be tested in the morning to join. The letter for Nameless was entrusted to Kodlak to keep safe and they all promised to make sure that Nameless would get it. 

Farkas got the swaddled body tucked into his bed and a fresh cloth pressed to his forehead. The big Nord gently stroked Nameless’ hair, looking over him protectively as the witless body slept to heal and his family so eagerly waited for him to wake up and see his new permanent home.

“I’ll protect you,” Farkas promised to himself as he pressed a kiss to Nameless’ mouth.

Nameless dreamt of a warm and happy home filled with his family members and his parents, showering him with love and affection that he had been deprived of for so many years. He dreamt that his weak body did not bother him, that he had good job and that none of his mistakes came to bother him. He dreamt that he had a kind lover to hold and love him and for him to love in return.

Little did he know that when he awakened that his good dreams had finally become reality.

The rest though? Plays out in nameless infamy.


End file.
